Hogan's Heroes: An Allied Revolution Begins
by Basketballgirl Kaitlin
Summary: Just exactly how did Hogan get to Stalag 13? How did the operation start? And what happened to his 504th team? After a frightening night over Hammelburg, Germany and an American bomber plane comes crashing down from the sky, Colonel Robert Hogan's life is never the same again and makes some new friends along the way. This is how he went from a bomber pilot to an 'ordinary' POW.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

( _Allied Airfield Base: London, Great Britain-January 22, 1942_ )

It was a surprisingly warm day in late January, and groups and units for the 504th bombing squadron were busy taking care of their duties and assignments around the base. For the moment, two corporals, Jack Wiley of the RAF, and Lyle McAvoy of the USA Army Air Corps, were busy cleaning off a Douglas A-20 Havoc attack bomber aircraft and were socializing with one another. They both served under the same commanding officer and worked for the same crew.

McAvoy was thin, about 5'9", and had soft green eyes. As for Wiley, he was bigger, but because of being so muscular built. He was about 5'7" and had brown eyes that went well with his chocolate brown wavy hair. Both men shared the same barracks with six other men in their crew and became fast friends with everyone.

McAvoy ran his fingers through his dark blonde hair and looked at his friend and fellow Ally.

"Hey, Wiley," he said. "You doing anything tonight?"

The RAF corporal stopped what he was doing, looked off into the distance, and let out a heavy breath of air.

"I don't think much of anything. Why?"

"Anderson, Pearce, Ellis, and I are playing a few rounds of poker. Brooks is dealing. You wanna join?"

"Brooks is dealing, huh? Well, I can bet yah ten American dollars Pearce sure won't be winning tonight."

McAvoy smirked and shook his head.

"He always gets conned out, doesn't he?"

"What about Hamilton and Gibson? What are they doing?"

"Making bets on who's gonna lose the game."

Wiley raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to bet on who will _win_?" He questioned carefully.

"They're trying something new out. Wanna make it interesting." McAvoy answered.

The RAF corporal cocked his head to the side and nodded.

"I suppose I could stay for a few rounds unless Boss says otherwise." He replied.

"Nah. I don't think Colonel will bother us unless urgent." McAvoy stopped polishing and looked at his side. She was as clean as a whistle. He had never seen a more spotless attack bomber before. "Well, my side's done. What about yours?"

Wiley stepped back and observed his work. He nodded, giving it his approval.

"I think she's good, bloke." He remarked.

"Great! Let's get going to dinner, then. I heard it's lasagna night." McAvoy cried.

Wiley nodded and followed his friend, when he noticed a tiny spot that had yet to be cleaned.

"Wait! Hold on. I need to clean this bad boy off."

The American turned and rolled his eyes. He knew the Englishman for being a constant clean freak.

"It's good, man. Trust me."

"No, I gotta get this one, little spot here real quick," Wiley said, completely ignoring his friend.

McAvoy made his way over, yanked his friend from the plane, and dragged him off to dinner.

"Wait! Boss is gonna kill us if I don't make that plane shine!" He wailed.

"One little spot's not gonna hurt it." McAvoy chuckled.

"Aw, come on!"

* * *

Not too far across from the dining area, Colonel Robert E. Hogan was in his quarters lying comfortably on his sofa reading a book. There had not been many assigned missions lately, so most of the time he was either supervising his men or resting in his quarters writing letters home or doing leisurely activities such as reading or listening to jazz music on his record player.

Hogan was so lost in his book, he did not hear the knock on his door and his best friend, also his second in command, enter into his living area.

Major Richard 'Rick' Schuerman smirked and stood behind Hogan's head watching him. The major was slightly taller than his commanding officer, had dark blue eyes, a bit of facial hair, and short deep brown hair. He never wore his crush cap or any type of hat. He was not fond of them and felt they would mess up his hair. Rick always did his best to make himself presentable and how his hair looked was on top of that list.

"Good book there, Boss?" He laughed.

Hogan turned to look behind him, smiled, then placed his book on his belly and turned to look at his best friend.

"When did you come in?" He asked softly.

"Couple minutes ago. I always forget how much you get lost in your reading."

The colonel chuckled.

"I do love my reading, don't I." Hogan remarked.

"You ready for dinner?" Rick asked. The major crossed his legs and leaned against the wall of his friend's quarters.

"Depends. What's on the menu?"

"Either mac and cheese or Italian night."

Hogan closed his eyes and moaned with delight. He loved Italian food. He may be enemies with the Italians in the war, but he could not help but like their cooking. He had favored Italian meals since he could remember.

"I _love_ Italian," he said, dreaming of his meal. Two warm breadsticks covered with parmesan cheese next to a plate of steaming hot spaghetti covered with butter and a light marinara sauce.

"I know you do. Why do yah think I came over here?" Rick asked, grinning.

"Oh, I don't know...needed some money?" Hogan answered teasingly.

"That was one _time_ , Rob! Come on!"

Both of them started laughing. The two men had been best friends since high school. Both attended the same military school and were roommates all throughout. Hogan had been saddened when he had to leave for London for assignment. He had to leave his mother and father, his girlfriend, his younger brother, a doctor, and his best friend behind in Cleveland, Ohio. When the Americans came into the war near the end of December last month, Hogan was thrilled to learn that Rick would be his second in command. Both of them went on every assignment with one another and flew in the same B-17 bomber with the eight men under their command. The colonel could not have asked for a better team. They were the best group of men he had ever been assigned to work with.

"Alright...probably should get going before dinner gets cold," Hogan said, his laughter dying down.

"Nah. The chef will keep it warm." Rick answered.

"Unless he's drunk again."

"If he is, General Berkman's gonna flip his lid."

He chuckled softly and nodded at Rick's comment.

"He isn't too fond of men getting drunk on duty, is he?"

General Alfred Berkman of the United States Army Air Corps was Hogan's commanding officer and worked with a team of three other USA generals in London Headquarters. Hogan first met the old general at an Academic Awards Dinner for Honor Students and had just taken his promotion as Captain. The two hit it off immediately, and Hogan took every class possible with the man. Eventually, their relationship as professor and student turned into a father and son one. The captain went to the man for advice, academic help and support, or to just have a friendly chat with one another and see how their days were going. Berkman eventually became Hogan's mentor and showed him the ropes of what it took to be a strong and respected commanding officer. In fact, had it not been for the old general, Hogan would have never even became a colonel.

* * *

It was during the week of finals at West Point, and Hogan's assigned commander, Major Randy Beidleman, was giving them an obstacle test. A tall, thin man. He had jet black hair, wore glasses, and had a bit of a snobbish tone to his voice. The major was a harsh grader, and if one of the students were to go back for any reason and restart, they would be failed and have to take the class over again.

The exam started, and Hogan was doing tremendously well. He was going through, over, around, and under the obstacles swift and stealthy. Many of the obstacles imitated fire, gun shots, burning aircrafts, and various other scenarios the men would face in war. Hogan was ¾ of the way done, when he heard a man behind him way back crying for help. He turned back and saw a young sergeant struggling to get through fake smoke and find his way through. He was terrified and scared of failing the exam with time to spare. It did not take Hogan long to make his decision. He ran back for the sergeant, knowing the consequences, and helped him through the obstacles side by side. They got near the end, and after jumping over a fallen over tree trunk, Hogan landed on his foot wrong and sprained his ankle. The sergeant offered to stay with him and finish with him, but the captain urged otherwise, wanting to make sure the sergeant passed his final. The young man was forever grateful to him and passed the test.

Eventually, Hogan was able to get back to his feet, limped the rest of the way, and finished a little after the sergeant did. Beidleman was furious with the captain and not only failed him, but downgraded his rank from captain back to lieutenant. This infuriated several of Hogan's classmates and demanded that he be passed and keep his ranking for helping a fellow student in the class.

Unbeknownst to any of them, Berkman had been watching the exam and evaluating each student. He was amazed with Hogan going against orders and going back to help one of his fellow classmates finish the obstacle even though he knew the consequences and possibly even be held back in his program. The rank did not matter to him, the old man noticed. What matter to the captain was the others around him and had the will to risk everything to protect and help the men under his command. Hogan showed strength and firmness with just as equally an amount of kindness and compassion. He established just what a commanding officer should be and how one should act and care for his men.

With what he had witnessed, Berkman stepped in and ordered Beidleman that Hogan pass the class for showing superlative bravery and the will he had to suffer severe consequences if it meant the safety or success of one of his countrymen. After a few exchanges of disagreement and a few threats from the general, Beidleman passed Hogan in the class. It was the next order that stunned all of them. Berkman then ordered that Major Beidleman promote the young captain to colonel, stating that only a real commanding officer would give the example of what Hogan had presented to them.

At first, Hogan had no idea what to say. He was stunned and amazed that Berkman felt he was good enough to be a full ranked colonel. After some reassurance from the old general, Hogan smiled and accepted his promotion with honor, making all of his classmates cheer and celebrate.

* * *

Coming out of his memories, Hogan beamed remembering his commander. He honored Berkman and would for the rest of his military career and lifetime. He would never be able to repay the old man. The colonel wanted to be as great of an officer as he was.

Seeing his best friend gaze off about something, Rick could not help but tease.

"Dreaming about some hot blonde there, Rob?"

Hogan turned his head and gave a playful glare at his second in command.

"I have a girlfriend, remember?"

Margaret 'Maggie' Hauser and the colonel had been dating for almost two years since meeting one another at one of Hogan's friend's parties. She had light ash brown hair that went a little past her shoulders and had the most beautiful blue eyes Hogan had ever seen. She worked as a nurse at a local hospital back in Cleveland where she and Hogan lived together in a one story house. It was just the right size for them. Since he left for London, Maggie got a part time job singing at a bar and grill during the night to earn extra money to help pay for gas, bills, etc. Hogan lit up every time he thought of her: her pretty smile that brightened an entire room, her optimism and kindness towards others. She was his best friend and like no other woman he had ever met. Once the war was over, he was going home and proposing to her.

"Forgot...you stopped being such a 'player' since college," Rick said, fighting back from laughing.

Hogan changed his glare slightly and tried with all his might to hold back from grinning.

"Get your rear end moving before I kick it out." He ordered.

"Wow! Harsh much?"

Not able to fight back anymore, Hogan smirked, got to his feet, and made his way to his best friend.

"Come on. By the time we get there, the chef really _will_ be drunk." The colonel chuckled.

Rick's response was a hardy laugh.

"Got me there, Rob," the major said.

Both officers put on their white scarves, leather gloves, and soon they were leaving Hogan's quarters and headed off to dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Hogan and Rick were sitting at a counter in the dining area, both having a couple of drinks. At the moment, the two of them were laughing at their days back in college. The dumb mistakes and decisions they decided to make back then. Looking back on them now, both men were wondering what they were thinking back in their youth.

"Remember when we threw that huge party in the basement and snuck in all those girls?" Rick chuckled.

"Dear God. We were lucky Major Beidleman didn't find out. Our rear ends would have been kicked clear to Helsinki." Hogan replied, laughing.

"He would've done _worse_ than that. He would've probably had us demoted all the way back to private again."

"Probably right...ah, good old Major Beidleman. I wonder whatever happened to him."

"Ah, who knows. Maybe he got so sick and tired of dealing with wild college boys he decided to resign from the military and owns some shoe store now."

Hogan raised an eyebrow and grew puzzled.

"Why do you say 'shoe store'?" He asked.

Rick shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"First thing that came to my mind."

Hogan smirked and took another sip of his drink.

"Just glad he didn't catch us when we decided to throw those water balloons down from the roof of our dorm." The colonel continued.

Rick nearly choked on his drink, somehow managed to swallow it, and started bursting out in laughter.

"Who's idea was that, anyways?" He cackled.

"I think it was Mickey's that time." Hogan answered, grinning.

Mickey Rochester was Rick and Hogan's other roommate they had throughout college. The three of them became close friends and did some of the dumbest and craziest things any college kid could ever dream of doing. Mickey was made a captain, Rick had been promoted to major, and Hogan continued to hold his title as colonel. Once they had graduated from school, Mickey had accepted an incredible job opportunity out in Los Angeles, California, leaving Rick and Hogan behind in Cleveland. The three still remained in touch with one another and planned someday to get together again like old times.

"How do you think good old Mickelberry's doing?" Rick asked, taking another drink of his beverage.

"I don't know. Last time I heard from him, he was planning a trip to Puerto Vallarta," Hogan said.

"That guy goes just about everywhere in the world. He's always traveling and seeing new places. I wanna do that as soon as the war's over. I want to go to just about every place I can: Rome, Morocco, Milan, Paris...what about you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'd like to marry Maggie, have a couple of kids and be a father, maybe do a little traveling before settling down. I'd love to take Maggie to Oahu for a vacation or honeymoon."

"Robert Hogan, getting married. You really _are_ settling down, aren't you?"

Hogan gave a small smile and grabbed his beverage.

"Already got a ring picked out. Plan on asking her where we had our first date in the park." Hogan took another drink.

"Well, all be damned. How long have you been planning this?"

"Oh...couple months now."

"Hate to break it to yah, but married life isn't all that exciting. I love Carla dearly, but some days I wish I could go back to my younger years and fool around again."

"Don't tell Carla that."

Both men started laughing again and were nearly in tears from laughing so hard.

"Sounds like you two are enjoying your evening," a familiar and friendly voice said, from behind the two officers.

Rick and Hogan turned to find General Berkman himself standing there. The old man was wearing a gray trench coat, wearing a black hat, and was giving his usual welcoming smile.

General Alfred Berkman was about 6'1", an inch taller than Hogan was, had very light blue eyes that were always friendly, and a little heavy, but not much. He had hair that was almost completely silver besides the few that remained a lightish gray brown color.

"General, good to see you again," Hogan said, sincere.

"Good to see you, too, Robert. Major." Berkman replied.

"General," Rick greeted.

"What brings you here on such short notice?" Hogan asked, curious.

"Those Krauts are at it again, Colonel. They had another air raid on Paris last night. 174 killed and another 102 missing." The general answered softly.

The colonel shook his head, his eyes showing sympathy for those who were lost and were suffering as result from his country's arch enemy.

"Those poor people...how much damage?" He asked sadly.

"More than I can imagine, Robert. I have men out there in France right as we speak looking for any survivors...it's not good, I'm afraid." Berkman answered.

"Those rotten Krauts. What did those poor people ever do to them?" Rick hissed.

" _Nothing_ ," Hogan said, heartbroken. "That's what makes it worse than it already is."

"What do you want us to do, General?" Rick asked, ready to help in any way he could.

"There's a new ball bearing plant that's being built near the city of Hammelburg." Berkman began.

"I've heard of Hammelburg before. I could figure out how to get there." Hogan answered.

"I'd like to send you and your men out over Germany and bomb it. Do anything you can to cause the most damage possible. It'll set the Krauts back farther in their chances of winning the war." The old man continued.

"When do you want us to do it?"

"As soon as possible."

Hogan nodded.

"We'll head out tomorrow night. Just need a bit to think of a military tactic," he said.

"Knew I could count on your group of men, Colonel." Berkman gave a small smile.

"Don't worry, General. We'll give those Krauts a taste of their own medicine, believe us." Rick replied.

"Not too worried when Colonel Hogan and his men are on the job." The old general answered.

The colonel smirked and nodded.

"Take care, General. We'll see you soon," Hogan said friendly.

Berkman waved goodbye to both officers, then headed off for the night. Once he was gone, Hogan and Rick turned back to face one another.

"174 killed...that's terrible." The major sadly spoke.

"And another 102 missing." Hogan added.

"I just don't get it. How can those Krauts be so heartless? Doesn't Hitler know what he's doing is wrong?"

"I'm afraid not, Rick. We wouldn't be in this war had it never been for the Rise of Hitler. I've heard the Gestapo are even worse than Old Crazy Eyes himself."

"God, I hope I never run into one of those guys. Some of the stories I've heard, Rob...what those poor people had to suffer from...they're not even _human_!"

"I know...and that's why we're fighting this thing. Those innocent and terrified lives are depending on us to save them from Hitler and his zombie like minions."

"You're right."

Hogan gave a comforting smile.

"Come on. Let's go round up the boys and tell them what's ahead for us."

Rick gave a faint grin and nodded. He was amazed with how calm and level headed Hogan always was in hard times. No matter how much stress or pressure he was under, no matter what the situation was, the colonel always stayed focused and somehow figured out how to keep his emotions in tact while on duty. Rick was proud of his best friend and respected him more than any other person he knew in life. He could never do Hogan's job. He would not know how to control his feelings and not have them interfere with work.

The two officers got to their feet, left the dining area, and made their way over to the barracks where Hogan's men resided while off duty.

* * *

Three RAF and five USA Army Air Corps airmen. That was who made up Hogan's commanding team. The eight men all brought an important quality to the team that made it run so efficiently and well.

Wiley, USA Private Gibson, and USA Corporal Hamilton stood beside Private Brooks, another Army Air Corps soldier, as they watched their four friends in the middle of a very intense game of poker. The players, McAvoy, USA Sergeant Anderson, RAF Sergeant Pearce, and RAF Corporal Ellis, were all keyed in on what was going on around them and each move their opponent made. It looked like Anderson was taking it home at the moment. Gibson had his money on Pearce losing the game, and Hamilton on McAvoy. Wiley had to pay both men if both Pearce and McAvoy lost. Otherwise, if their person won the game, the loser had to pay $75 to the winner.

Ellis put down a card on the table, raised his earnings, then looked up at Anderson, who was sitting across from him.

"Your turn, Sanders," the corporal said, with a cigar in his mouth.

Sanders was Anderson's nickname to the other men. When all the men first met, they always forgot the sergeant's name and mistook him for the name Sanders instead. It grew on the man and eventually, it just became normal among the eight of them.

Anderson nodded, rubbed his chin with his fingers, and stared at his hand carefully. Any move he made next was either a 'make it or break it'. After taking a drag on his cigarette, Anderson made his move and nodded to McAvoy, indicating his turn.

While McAvoy planned his next strategy, Wiley leaned towards Brooks.

"What do you think? Who's gonna take it?" He asked.

"At the moment, it looks like Sanders, but it could be anyone at this rate." Brooks answered softly.

Wiley nodded and went back to watching his friends.

"You just wait. Pearce is gonna plummet to his death at any moment." Gibson murmured, cocky.

"Not if McAvoy has anything to do with it." Hamilton remarked, smug.

"Nah, you just wait and watch. Brooks is dealing; we _all_ know Pearce is gonna lose!"

"We'll see. I'm not yet convinced."

McAvoy made his move, and it all came down to Pearce.

The RAF sergeant's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets, but the shock quickly passed.

"I won." He gasped. "I won! Hahahahaha! I won! Victory is mine! Yes!"

Hamilton cheered and snapped his attention to Gibson.

"Ha! Pay up, Mr. McAvoy!" He cried.

Gibson grumbled something under his breath and roughly handed over $75.

"Brooks! What happened tonight? Pearce doesn't stand a chance when you're dealing usually!" Ellis exclaimed, stunned.

"My game must be off tonight. I can usually cheat Pearce out other nights."

"Well, there's one bright side to this," Hamilton said, optimistic.

"What's that, mate?" Wiley asked.

"Guess who's buying drinks tonight?!"

All the men started cheering and celebrating.

As they were setting up for a game of Egyptian ratscrew, the door to the barracks opened. Hogan and Rick stepped inside, closed the door behind them, and observed what their men were doing. Hogan smiled, crossed his arms, and cocked his head a bit to the side. Rick smirked and shook his head.

Sensing someone new came in, Wiley turned his head and saw his commanding officer. His eyes nearly fell out of his head and felt a sudden chill of fear run up and down his spine.

"Boss!" He cried, shooting up to his feet.

McAvoy yanked the man back down, a bit irritated with his friend's whole 'paranoia' on the one spot left on the plane they were cleaning earlier.

"Is he still freaking out over that tiny spec you two left on that Douglas A-20?" Ellis snorted.

"Boss said he wanted that thing spotless!" Wiley remarked, defensive.

"Hey, Colonel! Let us plan a wedding for yah. We already got a housewife for you right here!" Brooks teased.

All the men besides Wiley started laughing like morons.

Hogan could not help himself. He started chuckling and shook his head.

"I'm glad you guys are having some fun, but I'm gonna have to be the bad guy and put a stop to this little party, tonight," the colonel said softly.

A round of groans and sighs went between the eight men. Brooks started collecting dice, cards, and chips, while the rest turned to their commanding officer and his second in command.

"What's the deal here, sir?" Ellis asked, curious.

"Did we do something wrong?" McAvoy questioned, a bit anxious.

"No, no one's in trouble. We've got a new assignment from General Berkman," Hogan said, his face changing to one of authority.

"Oooo! What is it?!" Gibson cried.

"Do we get to slaughter someone?!" Wiley asked, energized.

Brooks flicked out his pocket knife and rested his arms on the shoulders of Anderson and Ellis.

"We'll get 'em, sir. We can make Gestapo Shepherds pie!" Brooks cackled.

That got all eight of them laughing again, until they saw Hogan's facial expression. The colonel let out a heavy breath, his eyes flashing with anger, and looked like a bull ready to charge.

Brooks cleared his throat and put his knife away.

"Sorry, Colonel," he said softly.

"We're just trying to lighten the mood, sir." Ellis added.

"Well, there's nothing light about what I have to tell you. The Krauts had another air raid on Paris last night. 174 people were killed and about another 102 are still missing," Hogan said, firm.

"You're kidding!" McAvoy gasped.

"We didn't hear about this," Ellis said.

"I just heard the news myself. General Berkman says there's a new ball bearing plant being built near the city of Hammelburg. He wants us to bomb it and put the Krauts' war efforts on setback." Hogan continued.

"When do we do it, Boss?" Wiley asked.

"Tomorrow night at 1900 hours. Wiley, you and McAvoy are in charge of supervising in back. Ellis and Anderson are in charge of getting the bombs set and ready, and the remaining of you will assist in dropping the bombs when I order to do so." The colonel ordered.

"Yes, sir," all men said.

"And if something happens to me, all eight of you are to follow Major Schuerman's orders and head straight back here to London, understood?"

"Yah mean _leave_ yah?!" Wiley exclaimed.

"We can't forget about you, Colonel! You're the head of this whole team!" Brooks cried.

"We're _nothing_ without you, sir!" McAvoy added.

"I appreciate the thought, guys, but I won't risk any of your lives to save mine," Hogan said.

"But, Colonel," Ellis was cut off.

"I'm not asking. I'm _telling_ , understand?" The colonel responded softly. His eyes read the decision was final.

Ellis fell silent briefly and looked at his commanding officer with sad eyes. He knew once Hogan had made a decision, he never changed it.

"Yes, Colonel."

Hogan nodded.

"Good," he said softly.

There was a brief moment of silence between all the men, when he let out a sigh and spoke again.

"You boys better get headed for bed. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," All eight men answered.

Hogan gave a friendly smile and started making his way to the door with Rick following from behind him.

"See you guys in the morning," was Hogan's answer.

"Good night, Colonel," all of his men said.

Once Rick and Hogan had made their way out, all eight men remaining turned to face one another.

"Leave Colonel Hogan _behind_?!" Brooks cried softly.

"No way. I'm not doing it," Ellis said, his decision made.

"He wouldn't leave one of _us_ behind. How could we do that to _him_?!" Anderson exclaimed.

"You'd have to _kill_ me before I leave Colonel behind with those Kraut bastards!" McAvoy hissed.

"Boss said 'no', guys. You know how much hot water we'd be in if we ever disobeyed one of his orders?" Wiley remarked.

"You'd rather have him die at the hands of the Gestapo?" Brooks asked, fierce.

"The _Gestapo_!" The other seven cried.

"You think the Gestapo would get a hold of Colonel Hogan?!" Pearce cried.

"I _know_ they would try to get a hold of him. Colonel's one of the United States' most highly regarded military officers. He's a living threat to the Krauts as long as he's out of captivity," Brooks said. "Getting a hold of him and keeping him as prisoner would be a _goldmine_ for them."

"We can't let 'em!" Wiley cried, shooting to his feet.

"We _won't_ let 'em. We're not going anywhere without Colonel Hogan with us," Anderson said, taking the lead for the eight of them. He was the highest rank out of all them and had longer service than Pearce did.

"What if Boss finds out, though?" Wiley asked.

"If Colonel finds out about this, he's gonna flip his lid." Pearce added.

"He'll do _worse_ than that. He'll have a frickin' cow! And a sheep, and a pig, and a duck, and the whole barn house!" Brooks retorted.

"Colonel Hogan can't have a cow. It wouldn't fit inside him, how's he gonna have a cow?" Gibson asked, lost.

McAvoy rolled his eyes. Gibson took the longest out of all of them to catch onto things.

"It's a figure of speech, Gibs," he said.

"It means Colonel's gonna lick us... _hard_." Ellis replied.

"Oh!" The private cried, finally catching on. "I get it now."

The rest of the men paid their attentions back on Anderson.

"So it's final; we don't leave Colonel Hogan behind under any circumstances. And _no one_ is to speak of this to anyone else, _especially_ Major Schuerman. He'll tell Colonel, and then we're screwed from the bottom up. Got it?"

"Yes, Sanders," all of them said, in unison.

"Good."

Ellis yawned and looked down at his watch.

"Well, it's getting late. We should probably turn in." The RAF soldier spoke.

"Probably right." Hamilton answered.

And so with that, the eight of Hogan's men got into their pajamas and made themselves comfortable in their bunks. Soon enough, they heard nothing and drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Morning came soon enough, and none of Hogan's men spoke of what was exchanged between them late last night. They acted as if the conversation never happened. All of them simply focused on their tasks for the day and socialized with one another during meals and breaks.

The day past by quickly and soon enough became nighttime. At 7:00PM, all of Hogan's men were loading up the B-17 bomber they always used, while Hogan and Rick were chit chatting and putting on their white scarves and gloves standing nearby.

Rick looked up from putting on his right glove at his best friend, then back down again to make final adjustments to it.

"You ready for tonight, Rob?" He asked.

Hogan looked up quickly at him, then he turned down to his hands again to fix his gloves.

"As ready as can be," was his answer.

"Your plan is straightforward and a clever one, might I say. It was good thinking to wait and do this thing until dark. The Krauts seeing us is slim to none."

"We'll have to be quick, though. It won't take long once they hear us to know we're in the area."

"You nervous?"

"I'm _always_ nervous when I have to take you guys out on these assignments."

"You ever worry about _yourself_ for a change? It's never a self-issue when it comes to you. You're always worried for others."

"A good commanding officer puts his men first."

"Rob, even _outside_ military work, you always put others first. It's never about you for once."

"Like I said before; a good commander puts the needs of others first."

"A good human _being_ puts the needs of others first." Rick chuckled and shook his head. He was yet again amazed at his best friend. How he managed to be both strict and disciplinary when needed, yet his heart was bigger than both Atlantic and Pacific Ocean combined. "You've got a big heart, Rob. More people need that... _especially_ in these times."

Hogan softly smirked and gave a sideways smile.

"We wouldn't _have_ wars if that were the case, my friend," he said.

The major nodded.

"You're right on that one, man. You ready?"

Hogan grinned.

"I was _born_ ready," he said.

Rick laughed and the two of them boarded into the cockpit of the bomber. As soon as they were settled, they took off towards the sky with eleven other planes following in perfect formation. Soon they would be flying over enemy soil and would have the most unexpected turnout they would ever encounter.

* * *

A few hours went by, and Hogan and his team had made it passed Germany's border and were headed for Hammelburg. While Rick and Hogan navigated and focused on their target, the rest of his team sat in the back with the bombs on the ground and socialized with one another.

"Are we there yet?" Brooks groaned, shifting his weight on his left leg.

"What are you, five?" Ellis spat.

" _Bored_. There's a difference."

Anderson closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I swear my five year old _niece_ acts more adult like than you two are acting like right at this very minute," the sergeant grumbled.

"Can we play a game?" Gibson asked.

"What kinda game?" Hamilton questioned.

"Egyptian ratscrew?"

"Anyone got a pack of cards on 'em?" Wiley asked.

"Never go anywhere without _mine_ ," Pearce said, pulling out a set from his jacket pocket.

"Alright, one game," Anderson said.

The eight men gathered around, and Pearce began shuffling, when Rick's voice called out.

"I'd put that away if I were you. Flying over target in another ten minutes."

"Well...so much for that." Ellis grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah, get in your spot would yah?" McAvoy retorted.

The RAF corporal mumbled to himself and got to his spot next to one of the bombs.

"We're all ready back here, Boss!" Wiley called out.

Hogan looked back briefly at his men, then back to the sky before him.

"Keep it up, boys. We'll need it in a couple minutes," the colonel said.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Gibson softly said.

"Why? We've done this before. What's different about this time?" McAvoy asked.

"I don't know, but I just know something bad's gonna happen tonight."

"I'm not the only one getting that feeling?" Wiley responded.

"I also feel it...and three of us feeling that is _not_ a good sign," Ellis said.

Anderson looked around at all of the men before him, sensing their tension building up more and more.

"Is everyone getting that feeling?" The sergeant asked.

All men fell silent. No one spoke a single word. All of them were connected by the same feeling of anxiety and danger ahead of them. That was usual and expected fighting in a war, but this time was different. This was a feeling that said 'Go back.' 'Get out of here.' 'Leave and don't turn around.'

Anderson swallowed a knot in his throat, feeling the same thing now himself and turned his attention in the direction of Hogan and Rick.

"Colonel!" He cried.

"Yeah, what is it?" Hogan called back.

The sergeant licked his lips in hesitation, not knowing how to answer. He could not order his commanding officer to turn the plane around and leave just because of a feeling the eight men were feeling, but he wanted to protect them all, too. If something happened to Hogan or one of his friends, he would never forgive himself for not speaking up when he had the chance to. He decided the risk of being court martialed was worth the lives of his friends and team in the 504th and finally found the courage to speak.

"Turn around."

Hogan raised his eyebrow and turned to look at Anderson briefly.

"Turn _around_ ," he answered, a bit stunned.

"Turn the plane around, sir."

"What do you mean 'turn the plane around'? We've got an assignment to do, and we're not leaving until it's accomplished."

"Colonel, turn this plane around. All eight of us got a bad gut feeling about this assignment. Let's do it tomorrow night."

"You guys are alright. Nothing bad's going to happen to us."

"Colonel, _please_ listen to us! We don't want you to get hurt!" Gibson pleaded.

"I don't care if I'm court martialed or not; I'm not gonna stand here and watch you get hurt or killed!" Ellis protested.

"All of you get back to your spots before I really _do_ court martial you." Hogan ordered.

"Colonel," McAvoy was cut off.

"You make me get out of this chair, you're all gonna be in some _serious_ hot water, got it, Corporal?" The colonel hissed.

All eight men swallowed knots in their throats and fell silent. They knew Hogan was mad if he ever addressed them by their ranks. You did not mess with Hogan when he called you your rank. You were asking for some severe trouble if you did so. _None_ of them dared try to see what happened if it got to that point. They just shut their mouths and went about their business.

"...got it, sir," McAvoy said meekly.

Hogan flicked his eyes back at them quick, then directed them back to the night sky.

"Take it easy on them, Rob. They're just worried is all," Rick said softly.

"I know they're worried about me, and I appreciate it, I do...but there's no room for fear on an assignment like this. We have to show these Krauts what happens when they mess with one of our Allies."

The major was about to say something, when all of sudden a loud, thunderous rumble could be heard coming from above them. Both Hogan and Rick lifted their eyes to the ceiling of the plane and stared at it in stupefaction.

"What the…" Hogan wondered.

"Colonel!" Ellis howled.

"We're surrounded by three Heinkel He 177s!" McAvoy reported.

Hogan turned back to what was in front of him and now felt the same fear his men had been feeling the whole time.

"No...make that seven," the colonel said, eating down his anxiety.

Their plane and the entire unit with theirs was completely surrounded by Luftwaffe fighter bombers.

"What do we do, Boss?" Wiley cried.

"Hold on!" Hogan called back.

Taking in a few deep breaths to calm him, the colonel pulled on the thrusters and flew out of formation to higher altitudes. Hogan was close to getting his men in safety, when one of the 177s began firing their machine guns at the enemy. Most of them penetrated the metal of the plane, but one took a huge blow to part of the right wing. A fourth of it was blown off, causing the plane to lean more towards the right. All eight men in back cried out in fear, when they began sliding at an angle.

"What do we do?!" McAvoy shouted.

"Everyone, get over to the left! Our weight will distribute a more even amount to the right!" Anderson ordered.

The seven men followed Anderson's command and crawled their way closer to the left. Soon enough, the plane leveled out a bit.

"What do we do now?" Gibson asked, worried.

"We're under fire, Boss! What do you want us to do?" Wiley called out.

"Stay put for now! I'll give an order when necessary." Hogan answered, focused on taking down at least a couple of these German fighter planes.

"Can't you fire back, Colonel?" Rick asked, trying to think of a quick solution.

"If I fire, I could risk hitting one of our guys. These Krauts are too close by to make a safe shot."

One of the 177s on the left end of their plane fired again and blew off the back end of the B-17. The eight men felt the blow and some were pushed back to the right screaming out in terror. The plane again started leaning towards that side again with the weight unstable.

Hogan's handle on the plane was becoming harder and knew the only way to get rid of the heavy weight causing their plane to lean almost sideways. He snapped his head back briefly at the men in the other room, then returned his attention to what was ahead of him.

"Anderson! Ellis! Get those bombs ready and drop them! We're close enough that the ball bearing plant will come out with quite a bit of damage!" Hogan ordered.

"Yes, sir!" Anderson answered.

All men assisted with the two with the task to make it go faster. Once settled, Ellis opened the latch and exposed the darkness below them which was somewhere in mid Germany.

"Go!" McAvoy ordered.

One by one, the men pushed the bombs out into the opening down onto enemy grounds. They got to the last one, when one of the 177s flew below the bomber and fired up underneath the plane. Hogan and his men rattled and shook within their B-17 and held on for dear life. The impact was strong enough, it caused the last bomb to fall right out of the opening and crashed down on top of the 177, blowing the German aircraft to smithereens.

"Ha! Hey, Colonel! We got one with the last bomb!" Hamilton cheered.

"Close that door before they fire again! Good work, men!" Hogan responded. As terrified as he was, he was still proud of his men for how well they were handling the situation and the fine job they were doing.

"You got it, Boss!" Wiley remarked, smiling.

Ellis closed the door, and the eight men went back to where they were and looked out the windows to see what was happening outside. It was hard to tell from the darkness of the night. There was not as much lighting as there was in the cockpit for Hogan and Rick to determine the enemy's locations were.

"Can you turn around?" The major asked, looking out his side for anymore 177s. There were two on the right trailing next to them.

"I'm trying, Rick. The damage to this thing is making that difficult." Hogan replied, gritting his teeth. It was becoming harder and harder to navigate and fly the bomber. There had to be a significant amount of damage to the motors and design to be causing such difficulty.

More shots were fired, and three of the Allied bomber planes were shot and going down.

"Colonel! Three of our guys went down!" Hamilton gasped, keeping his eyes fixed on his window.

"Damn it!" Hogan hissed, to himself. Not having a choice now, the colonel started making fires back at the Luftwaffe fighters. He was successful in hitting two of them in front. There were four that remained nearby, and Hogan could not distinguish where they were. "Where are the rest of them?" He asked Rick.

"There's two on this side, Rob! I don't know how we're gonna get them off of us!"

One of the Luftwaffe planes on the left side sped up and flew past the eight of Hogan's men in back. Anderson, Wiley, McAvoy, and Ellis, watching on the left side of the plane, saw the fighter drawing out their machine guns for another fire, and Wiley saw it was up close to where the cockpit was located.

"Boss, watch out!"

That was all Wiley was able to yell out before the fighter fired. By that time, it was too late for Hogan to look to his left and see the 177.

The bullets crashed into the engine and motor compartments, destroying the engine and fuselage. One of the bullets managed to crash into the window on Hogan's left, shattering the glass. Shards of glass cut open and injured Hogan's wrist, and the bullet and several pieces of shrapnel shot into the colonel's belly.

Hogan cried out then fell out of his chair, going into shock from his injuries.

"Rob!" Rick hollered. The major got out of his chair, knelt down beside his best friend, and cradled him in his arms.

The colonel was giving sharp, short, labored breaths, clutching his middle with his right hand, sweating, and moaning.

"Don't worry, Rob. We're gonna get you some help real soon! Just hold on!" Rick begged.

Hogan cried out in pain, clenched his eyes shut, and shuddered. He had never felt so much pain in his entire life. His left wrist felt as if someone had just smashed every bone in it and broke them into a thousand pieces. His belly was the worst. It made him feel hot, like it was 100 degrees outside in the summer. It made him feel like someone was ripping his stomach and intestines out or lighting them on fire. He found it difficult to breathe from so much pain. He started hyperventilating to try and ease himself to breathe.

Rick looked down at his friend, tears welling in his eyes. He could not let his best friend die. Hogan had helped him through so much over the years. He was there when the major's father passed away from a sudden heart attack and comforted him through his difficult loss. He had tutored Rick with math in high school and college, getting him almost a B+ by the time he graduated. He was Rick's best man at his wedding, there with him when he had to give blood for mandatory military procedure. Hogan had been there to go to for advice and always knew what to say to ease the major and make him feel strong and confident again. He wanted to be _Hogan's_ best man at his wedding. He wanted to be there when he had his first baby, he needed to pay him back for all the times his best friend had been there to help him, laugh with him, comfort him, and support him through anything. They were brothers in a sense.

As Rick closed his eyes and made a silent prayer for Hogan, he was brought out of thought when the sound of an alarm began ringing out throughout the plane. He gently lay Hogan on the ground, shot to his feet, and ran over to the control panel. The sign with a box and 'X' going through it was blinking on and off red. The plane's engine was dead.

"Shit!" Rick cursed.

He heard a low moan behind him, turned to look back, and saw Hogan attempting to get to his feet using his right arm and legs as his only assistance. Somehow he managed and once standing, he clutched his profusely bleeding wound on his abdomen with his left hand. He grimaced at the movement of his wrist. He was for sure that it was fractured.

"Rob, lay down! I'll take care of everything!" Rick urged.

"I know that noise, Rick. We've gotta evacuate this plane, or we're all dead." Hogan answered softly. He sounded as even just talking hurt to do.

"You mean jump out and land in the middle of Germany?!"

"It's the only chance at survival we got. We'll all meet up in London."

"You sure that's are only option?"

"I'm afraid so."

Hogan's color was draining, and it concerned Rick dearly. He had to get him to a hospital before he collapsed and passed out. But, he would follow Hogan's orders. He respected his dear friend and his position as his commander.

Rick nodded, and both officers made their way into the main area. The sound of the plane going down could be heard, as it began its fall to inevitable tragedy.

"Colonel!" Gibson hollered.

"You're hurt!" Hamilton cried.

"I'm alright. We gotta get out of here. This plane's going down. We'll have to parachute out and meet back in London." Hogan answered.

"You want us to jump into Germany?!" Ellis exclaimed.

"Just follow my order," Hogan said, as firm as he could.

Seeing how exhausted their commander was, all eight men nodded, put on a backpack with a parachute on it, and one by one, all of Hogan's men dropped into the darkness somewhere in the middle of Germany.

It finally came down to just Hogan and Rick. The colonel was putting on his parachute, when he noticed Rick had yet to jump.

"What are you doing?" Hogan asked, confused.

"I'm not leaving you in this condition you're in. You need a doctor or a hospital!" Rick demanded.

"I'll be alright. I'll get checked out when we get back to London."

"Rob, you'll _die_! Don't you get that?! You're gonna _die_ if you don't get help!"

"If I'm gonna die, then I'm sure as hell going to make sure you and my men survive this."

"Damn it, Rob! Be selfish for once! Put yourself first instead of others just this one time!"

Hogan cocked his head slightly to the left and looked at his best friend, a flicker of sadness shown in his eyes. He shook his head softly.

"I can't...I'm sorry. My men and my loved ones are more important to me than my life," he said quietly.

Realizing he would not change his best friend's mind, Rick turned to look outside into the night, then back at Hogan again. The major was choking back his emotions.

"Will I ever see you again?" Rick croaked.

Hogan gave a sad smile.

"I sure hope so," he said softly.

Rick made his way to the colonel and gave him a light hug.

"You're the best friend any guy could ever have...you'll _always_ be my best friend." He whimpered.

"You'll always be _my_ best friend." Hogan answered. His eyes were now watering, too. Both of them had realized that this may be the last time they ever saw each other again. That once they jumped out of that plane, their lives would never be the same again.

Once they released one another, Rick made his way back to the opening. He turned around and looked at his best friend for the last time. He wanted to remember everything about Hogan if this was truly the last time he ever saw him again: his thick black hair, the smile on his face, his kind and welcoming chocolate brown eyes, his friendly voice, and his wonderful laugh. As soon as he had those commit to his mind and heart, Rick swallowed a knot in his throat and allowed the tears to roll down his face.

"Goodbye, Rob," he said, tearful.

Hogan's eyes watered more, and he let his tears stream down his face.

"Goodbye, Rick," he said, with sorrow.

The major turned to look down at his fate, closed his eyes, then jumped out of the plane. He could be heard screaming before releasing his parachute.

"I'll see you in London!" He cried.

Hogan closed his eyes and continued letting his tears fall. Once collecting himself, he made his way towards the opening, looked around once more at his plane, then he took in as deep of a breath as he could in his condition, then jumped.

He screamed going down, then released his parachute and began floating down to the next chapter in his life. His old life was going down in flames, and his new one was landing on enemy soil.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Hogan gently landed on the ground floor of the forest. His parachute floated down behind him, then the colonel discarded it off of him. He rolled the parachute up as best as he could, but eventually just tossed it into a bush. His wrist could not withstand it anymore.

Hogan began feeling drained, light headed, and woozy. His surroundings were beginning to spin, and his belly was increasing in pain. He felt his eyes beginning to fall, but he fought it. He had to find his way out of the forest and find some type of vehicle or transportation system to get to an airbase and go back to London.

"How do I...how do I get out of here?" The colonel gasped. He was drifting off quickly, and it was beginning to become harder for him to focus and function.

The American officer took it one step at a time and slowly began his trek to some sort of safety, if any being in enemy territory. He made it about 20 yards from where he landed, when his belly started to ache more. He clutched his middle with his wounded hand and stopped to try and breathe. His breathing was shallow and rattling. It hurt every time he tried to take in a breath of air into his lungs. It felt like sandpaper against his respiratory system. Hogan was becoming more light headed and weak. He knew he must have lost a tremendous amount of blood at that point. To be frank, he did not know how much longer it would be before he collapsed.

Putting every amount of strength and determination left in him to get home, Hogan continued at a much slower pace than before. He stopped again after about seven steps and looked around him, his skin becoming as pale as a bed sheet, and his eyes becoming foggy.

The forest was completely blurry and spinning 100 miles a minute around him. He felt as if he had just come off of the tilt-a-whirl at a carnival. His legs were buckling and shaking, and his body was becoming heavy.

Hogan tried fighting it as hard as he could. His eyelids were becoming hefty and was trying to keep them open.

"Wha...what...what's…" He barely spoke.

The extent of his injuries and exhaustion had become too much for him. Hogan's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the forest floor on his right side. His world became dark and lifeless, and he began to slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

"How much longer _is_ this walk?" A young man complained. He and his companion had been trudging in the cold weather for over an hour now. He had a black cap, a flannel shirt, and jeans on. His eyes were light green, and his hair a dark blonde. Both men had gloves, scarves, and jackets on, but the weather was still immensely cold.

The other man, an older one wearing a black Charlie Chaplin hat, had a gray mustache, balding blackish gray hair, and brown eyes, turned to the younger man and glared at him.

"Quit your complaining, will you? I'm just as cold as you are." He responded, a bit harsh.

"Aren't your legs tired yet, Otto?" The young man asked.

"Tired comes with the job, son. Working for the underground isn't as easy as it might look."

"Got that right, sir."

The young man had recently joined the resistance and was still learning the ropes from his fellow comrades. His mentor was loyal underground member Otto Heidleman. The man had been working with the resistance since Hitler's rise to power in 1933. He loved Germany dearly, but not what it was becoming known as. Otto was a devoted Ally and would stand with them till death if necessary. (1)

He and the young man kept walking through the forest while talking with one another.

"You think those RAF sergeants got out of here safely?" The young man asked.

The old man gave a friendly smile.

"We've done all we can, Heinz. I'm confident those men are on their way safely to London." He answered, keeping his eyes ahead of him.

"You think so?"

Otto was about to answer, when he spotted something odd out at a distance.

"What the…" he wondered.

"What? What is it, sir?" Heinz asked, worried.

"Look. Over there." Otto answered, pointing towards the north east.

Heinz turned his head and now noticed the same thing as his guide did.

"What is that?" The young man asked.

About 25 feet ahead of them in the direction, there lay a big lump of something. It was lying there lifeless and seemed to have the size of a big dog or a person. It had either a black or dark brown color to whatever it was.

"It looks like a big dog," Heinz said, still curious at what it really was.

"We better go check it out. Just in case it's one of our men." Otto replied.

"Right behind yah."

The two men hurried their way silently over to the object. When they got there, they knew immediately it was a man. Brown pants, dark brown shoes, a brown leather jacket, and from what they could tell, a brown hat of some sort.

Otto knelt down besides the man and rolled him over on his back.

"My God! What did they _do_ to this man, slaughter him?!" The old man gasped.

It was Hogan. His face was expressionless, his skin was clammy, and seemed to barely be breathing. His wounds were still bleeding quite a bit and did not seem to stop. His left hand was over his abdominal wound, and the wrist had several cuts to it. Like it had been sliced open with a knife in several places. Then there was his stomach wound. There seemed to be a huge tear in his khaki shirt similar to the one a bullet would leave. The bleeding from his abdomen was horrendous. Hogan was on the brink of death.

"It's a Colonel! We've never seen one of those before!" Heinz cried quietly.

"He's in bad condition." Otto answered meekly.

"What did they do to him, sir? Is he alive?!"

The old man took his fingers and checked for a pulse on Hogan's neck. He felt one. It was extremely weak, but he had one.

"He's alive, but just barely." Otto answered, in shock.

"We've gotta get him to Richard! He'll take care of him."

"And how do you think we'll explain how we found him?"

"Say we were driving home, and we saw something odd off the road along the way. We stopped to investigate the area and found him in a ditch unconscious."

Otto nodded. The young man had made a reasonable argument. Nothing suspicious about two men going home for the night and stopping to check on something out of place.

"It's good...it just might work," he said softly. He looked back down at the man.

"Is he gonna be alright, Otto?"

"At this point, I have no idea. The man's lucky to still be _alive_ considering the weather and his current medical condition." He turned to Heinz. "Help me lift him up. We'll have to _run_ with him to the car at this rate."

The young man got down to Hogan's legs, and Otto had him by the shoulders. Once they slowly lifted him off the ground, Heinz helped the old man get the colonel in his arms.

Otto looked down at the unconscious man in his arms and held sympathy and hope in his eyes.

"Hang in there just a little longer, soldier. You'll be in good hands soon," he said softly.

Hogan remained unresponsive.

Otto snapped his head quickly to Heinz.

"Come on. Hurry!" He ordered.

Both underground men took off as fast and silently as they could. They had to get Hogan to a hospital and soon. His life was slipping through their fingers as each second went by. While they were running, Heinz turned to look back at Otto briefly.

"What's his name?" He asked, curious.

The old underground agent looked down at the man's jacket where his rank and name was sewn on.

"Colonel R.E. Hogan."

* * *

"How is he, nurse?" An old man asked, worried. He ran into the emergency room as quickly as he could. He had pure white hair, wrinkled hands and face, and kind light blue eyes. The man looked friendly and gentle hearted.

"His vitals are weak, but are doing fine, Dr. Klaussner," the nurse said softly.

The old man, Dr. Richard Klaussner, was another underground agent and one of the most loyal and kindest of them. He had been one of the very few doctors to remain that way and not been brainwashed by Hitler and his political movement. It did not matter of which religion, nationality, or skin color a person was. He was a doctor, and doctors saved innocent lives survive. He lived strongly by that philosophy and as long as his real loyalties remained silent and unknown, he would continue to save any life regardless American or German. (2)

Looking at his new patient, Colonel Robert Edward Hogan, Klaussner sighed softly and nodded. Not the news he wanted to hear, but it was better than nothing.

"Thank you, nurse. You're free to leave," the old man answered.

The nurse, a very young girl with soft blonde hair, nodded and silently left the room.

Once she had left, Klaussner walked back over to the man lying in his emergency room. Hogan was being prepped for surgery and waiting on the anesthesia he needed before beginning.

Klaussner gently put a hand on Hogan's shoulder and kept it there for a moment. He had no idea who the man was, but all he knew was that he liked him. He had a good vibe to him and seemed to be a man of genuineness, kindness, compassion, and bravery. A man like that deserved to live, to survive this war, and return to his family and friends back home again.

"Don't worry, Colonel. You're gonna be alright even if I have to spend nine hours in surgery to make sure of that," he softly said. There was determination and anxiety in his voice. He feared to lose the man, but was going to do everything he could to make sure he got through surgery and healed as quickly as possible.

Hogan remained lifeless. He was in a white hospital gown with tiny dark blue diamonds on it for a design. He was covered up with a white knitted blanket and sheets. His left hand was stabilized to prevent from injuring it further. Klaussner would have to treat that with surgery along with the tremendous injury to his belly. An IV was in Hogan's right hand, and had oxygen assistance in his nose.

Another doctor, a young man, hurried in with a syringe filled with clear liquid and handed it to Klaussner.

The old man looked back, took the medicine, and nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Schnauzer," Klaussner said, sincere. The old man turned back to Hogan and injected the anesthesia into his IV stream gradually. Once the last of the sedative had been injected, Klaussner threw away the syringe in the designated disposal box, then made his way to his fellow colleague. "I want that man in surgery _now_! We can not put him off any further. He's on the brink of death enough as it is."

" _Jawohl, Herr Doctor_ ," Schnauzer said softly.

The young man left quickly and just as fast came back with three other doctors, all undercover underground agents. The five medics grabbed one side of Hogan's bed and zipped their ways through the halls in the hospital to the operating room.

Klaussner looked down quickly at the man in the bed, then back up at what was in front of him.

"Hold on, Colonel...just a little longer." He murmured.

* * *

"Hemostat," Klaussner said, his hand stretched out.

Schnauzer automatically handed the old man a scissors like object and watched the head surgeon execute the tedious surgical procedure.

"Suction tube."

The young man handed the underground agent the medical instrument and remained silent. His eyes went from Klaussner, to Hogan, and back to Klaussner again. Schnauzer was mesmerized with what was happening before him. A medic still in training, he could not wait for the day where he would be in Klaussner's position and be able to save someone's life.

The nurse standing next to Hogan's head glanced over at the colonel and noticed something off. He looked paler than he had going into surgery. Soon enough, an alarm was going off. The nurse snapped her head over towards the EKG machine connected to Hogan's chest. His heart rate was dropping quickly. (3)

"Dr. Klaussner, patient's crashing." She reported.

"He's losing blood, Doctor," Klaussner's assistant in surgery, Dr. Hans Mueller, said.

"Get a clamp and hurry!" The old man ordered, turning to Schnauzer.

"Yes, sir," the young man said, and hurried over to one of the cabinets.

Klaussner looked up at the doctor standing on the other side of Hogan's head.

"Start chest compressions and increase oxygen rate if necessary!" The old man spoke urgently.

"Yes, Doctor," the man, Dr. Hagen, said. He turned to face the patient and started giving forceful pushes down on Hogan's chest to help blood flow.

"Heart rate still dropping, Doctor," the nurse said, holding back her anxiety.

"Damn it!" Klaussner cursed.

"This man needs a blood transfusion, and he needs one now." Mueller reported.

"I need a pint of A- blood, Schnauzer!" The old man demanded.

"Yes, Doctor!" The young man answered. He rushed to Klaussner's side, handed him the clamp needed, then sprinted out of the operating room.

"Come on, Colonel. Stay with me, damn it," Klaussner said, trying to stop as much blood flow in Hogan's abdomen as possible.

Hagen was beginning to give faster chest compressions and now sweating a little.

"Come on, man...stay with it, sir." He mumbled, to himself.

The nurse increased the amount of oxygen Hogan was breathing in and began to tremble. She wanted the man to live. He had a comforting vibe to him and seemed to be Germany's savior from Hitler and his zombies.

Schnauzer ran in with a bag of blood and handed it to Mueller.

" _Danke, Schnauzer_."

" _Jawohl, Herr Mueller_."

"Come on, Colonel...hang in there." Klaussner pleaded softly.

Mueller began a blood transfusion, and Hogan's heart rate began to slowly increase back to normal. Once it was stable, Hagen stopped chest compressions and sighed with relief.

The nurse hung her head, tears streaming down her face, and said a silent 'thank you' to God.

"Thank you, Lord," Klaussner said quietly. He turned to his assistant surgeon. "Hans, continue giving him blood. I'll tell you when to stop."

" _Jawohl, Herr Doctor_ ," Mueller said.

The old man turned back to look at Hogan and smiled through his surgical mask. He gave a soft smirk and shook his head.

"You're a stubborn one, Colonel...keep it that way for my sake."

Klaussner turned his eyes down to what he was doing and continued with his operation.

* * *

(1) Otto Heidleman is a character I created. He is one of the most respected leaders of the underground and makes his first appearance in my story 'Coming Into the Light'. His code name is Night Owl.

(2) Dr. Richard Klaussner is a character I created and first appeared in my story 'Hogan's Heroes: Finding the Silver Lining'. His code name in the underground is Lone Wolf. I have given permission for another writer to use him in her story and willing to do so for others. Just PM me for permission first.

(3) The first EKG machine to be recorded for use was in 1872 by a man named Alexander Muirhead in London.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

Hogan's eyes fluttered slowly open, and his immediate vision was blurry. He could see yellow blobs surrounding him, was lying down on something, and was covered up with blankets and sheets. His left hand and wrist felt stuck and immobilized. He felt completely out of it, and his brain was more scattered than furniture and paper in a house struck by an F4 tornado. His belly had a dull ache, felt tight, and was wrapped with something.

Looking up at what appeared to be a ceiling, Hogan gave a low moan and closed his eyes. He opened them again, and his vision was a bit better. He was in a room with yellow painted walls, a furnished oak nightstand, and one lamp lighting the entire room. He looked down at his right and saw an IV in it, another IV in his arm giving him blood transfusions, and his hospital bracelet. He had wires connecting to his chest leading to some weird looking machine he had never seen before and a tube leading from his stomach down to something on the ground.

Slowly, Hogan turned his head to the left, and his eyes nearly fell out of his head when he saw his hand. It was wrapped up in a cast that went clear up to the beginning of his arm. It looked like white plaster in a sense.

His stomach got a sudden cramp, making him groan louder. He put his right hand on his swollen belly and rubbed it gently.

 _Where am I_ , he wondered. _What happened? How on earth did I get here_?

Hogan's eyes flickered back and forth across the room. He was in a hospital for sure, but how did he get there? The last thing he remembered was jumping out of his plane and wandering around in the forest for hours, trying to find a way out of Germany.

 _I'll see you in London_ , Rick's voice cried out in his head. Hogan instantly became concerned for his men. Where did they land? Did they get away safely? Were any of them hurt? Was Rick alright? He tried to move, but the pain was unbearable. Hogan wailed out in pain, then moaned and rubbed his belly again. The amount of pain that waved through his body at the slightest movement was enough to put him back into unconsciousness.

After getting his labored breathing back under control, he closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to aid his dry mouth, and gave as big of a sigh he could without any excruciating pain.

"Where am I…" He grumbled, to himself.

Hogan was almost asleep again, when the door to his room opened. He flickered his eyelids barely open and looked to see who it was.

An old man with white hair, a few wrinkles, and very light blue eyes wearing a white lab coat, black pants, and shoes. He was flipping through a clipboard and scanning what each sheet of paper said. He looked up and saw Hogan with his eyes cracked open watching him. He gave a big, friendly smile.

"You're awake. That's a good sign you're gonna be alright." The old man answered.

"Who are you?" Hogan asked, raspy.

"I'm Dr. Richard Klaussner. I've been treating you since you were brought in three nights ago."

"I've been here for three days?"

"You went into a brief coma due to shock and blood loss to your injuries. Almost crashed on us in the operating room for both of your surgeries."

Hogan swallowed again. What he would not give for a glass of water at that moment.

"Where am I?" He asked meekly.

"Hammelburg Memorial Hospital."

"I'm in Germany?"

"You're lucky a Gestapo patrol didn't find you out there. Lord knows what those demons would've done to you in your condition."

"You don't work for them."

" _Mein Gott_ , no! I'd rather face the Russian Front before working for those... _things_."

Hogan's eyes suddenly felt heavy. It was becoming harder to stay awake and breathe.

"Rick." He gasped.

"Who's Rick, Colonel?" Klaussner asked, concerned.

"Rick...London...Rick…" Hogan's eyes closed, and his skin became deathly pale.

"Colonel?" The old man asked again.

The EKG machine started making an alarm noise. Klaussner ran towards it and checked Hogan's readings. He was crashing again due to not enough blood in his body.

"No...not again!" The old man gasped.

He hurried to Hogan's right side and started giving chest compressions.

"I need help in here!" He barked.

Three doctors ran in, one being Schnauzer, and got to Klaussner's side.

"I need more A- blood. He's crashing quickly!" The old man ordered.

" _Jawohl, Mein Doctor_ ," Schnauzer said, and hurried out of the room.

Klaussner looked to another man, Dr. Weiner, with urgency in his eyes.

"Get me a shot of epinephrine and hurry!"

"Yes, Doctor," Weiner said. He ran down the hall and was back with several syringes of epinephrine on a tray in minutes.

Klaussner grabbed one and gave Hogan one through intracardiac injection.

"He's still dropping, Doctor. He's close to asystole." The doctor standing on Hogan's left, Dr. Herwarth, reported anxious. (1)

"Where's that A- blood?!" Klaussner snapped.

As if on cue, Schnauzer came rushing back in with a pint of A- blood and handed it to Klaussner.

"This better be enough, Doctor. There's not enough A- blood left for another transfusion." Schnauzer spoke.

Klaussner injected more of the hemoglobin into Hogan's IV stream that was currently giving him a transfusion. Once that had been done, he took another syringe of epinephrine and again gave it to the colonel via intracardiac injection.

Hogan gasped for air and started coughing viciously.

Herwarth looked over at the EKG, and his muscles instantly lost tension.

"Vitals returning to normal, Dr. Klaussner," he said, with relief.

The old man closed his eyes and gave a breath of solace.

"Thank the Almighty Lord," he said softly. Once collecting himself, he turned to Hogan and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, Colonel?"

Hogan moaned loudly.

"My stomach." He whimpered. He started rubbing his belly again.

Klaussner turned to Weiner.

"Get this man some pain medicine, will yah?"

" _Jawohl, Herr Doctor_."

Weiner hurried his way out of the room down the hall.

Once his fellow colleague was out of sight, Schnauzer made his attention to Hogan and gave a friendly smile.

"You gave us quite a scare there, _Herr Colonel_. You were close to cardiac arrest," he said softly.

Another moan escaped Hogan's mouth.

"Easy, Colonel. Just try and relax." Klaussner coaxed.

Hogan started giving labored breaths and moaned again.

"Why does my stomach hurt so much?" He cried.

"You took a pretty severe injury to your abdomen. Several torn abdominal muscles, major blood loss, and some pretty serious lacerations to your stomach and small intestines. You'll have some painful abdominal cramps for another seven to eight days. Your wrist was given minor injuries despite the huge cuts you received from shattered glass. Only some minor muscular tears that will heal up within ten to eleven days." The old doctor replied softly. (2)

The colonel started sweating, grimaced, and cried out in agony.

Weiner sprinted back in, hearing Hogan's cries, and quickly injected the medicine into the man's IV stream.

"You shall be feeling better in a little minute, Colonel. Just hang in there until then," Weiner said, comforting.

Klaussner held Hogan's hand tight for support.

"Keep fighting just a little minute more, Colonel. You've done a great job this far," the old man said softly.

Hogan had his left hand over his middle, holding it as much as his cast would allow him, and gave short breaths. He started to relax once the effects of the medicine began to take hold. Soon enough, Hogan felt little to no pain in his belly and relaxed.

Klaussner smiled.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked.

"A lot better," the colonel said, giving a meek smile.

The old doctor patted Hogan's shoulder gently.

"Get some rest, Colonel. I want to see you on your feet as soon as possible," he said.

The American officer closed his eyes briefly and swallowed.

"Call me Robert," Hogan said softly.

Klaussner's face brightened.

"Good night, Robert. Sleep well, and I'll be back in the morning to check on you." The old man answered.

Hogan smiled faintly and quickly drifted off to sleep.

Seeing his patient was fine for the night, Klaussner and his team walked out of the room and silently closed the door behind them.

* * *

Nine days had passed since Hogan was admitted into the hospital. He no longer needed oxygen assistance, could eat little meals, do some reading, and was starting to sit up and stay awake longer. The cramps in his belly had lessened and was a mere discomfort now. It pleased the American officer that he could do more than sleep with his medical condition improving.

Hogan was sitting up slightly reading a book Schnauzer had found him, when Klaussner made his way inside the room. He put his book down beside him and smiled warmly at the German doctor.

"Doctor, how are we doing today?" The American asked. His voice sounded much more alive than it had when he first arrived.

"Doing fine, Robert. And yourself?"

"A lot better, thank you...you saved my life, you know that."

"Just doing my job as a doctor."

"Any other German than yourself, and I might not even be here talking right now."

"A good doctor saves lives regardless of nationality. There's not one superior race that deserves to live instead of others."

"Wish more doctors here had that kind of mindset."

Klaussner sighed heavily, walked to Hogan's bedside, then sat down next to his legs and placed his clipboard to the side. He looked to the American, his eyes old and worn. A man who was pleading for someone to end what Germany was becoming.

"It's horrifying to see what my Germany's coming to, Robert...I feel some days no one can save us now," he said sadly.

"That's what the Krauts want you to think. You can't let them get to you. That's the only way our side's going to win this war." Hogan answered sincerely. He liked this man. He was no Nazi and no follower of Hitler's. He wanted to help him, but in his current condition, he did not know if he could help him enough. At that moment, Hogan promised himself that he would go home to London and fight for people like him. Those who were frightened and mortified with their own country, but did not have enough confidence to stand up for their beliefs. He would fight and put an end to this discriminating genocide Hitler and his Nazi Party had established.

Klaussner gave a tired smile.

"When I heard the Americans were coming into the war, I felt as if God had answered my prayers finally. If anyone can defeat Hitler, it is you and your fine country's men that can do it." The old doctor continued.

Hogan gave the same smile in return.

"Don't worry, Doctor. My country and our Allies will not let you down."

"I just can't understand it. _How_? How did Hitler manipulate us so?"

"You were scared and needed someone to turn to in times of need. That's when people like Hitler find those opportunities to attack."

"I never liked Hitler, but I never thought this would be why."

"Not too crazy about him myself."

"I'm glad to have someone to talk to about this. I can't socialize with other patients like this. Not with how many of my countrymen have become followers of Hitler."

Hogan smirked silently.

"Consider me a friend," he said softly.

Klaussner's face lightened, and a big smile grew on his face.

"Well then, if we're friends, call me Richard. Dr. Richard Klaussner at your service." He answered.

"Colonel Robert Edward Hogan of the United States Army Air Corps."

"You have children, Robert?"

"No, but I would love to have a couple after the war. First I need to go home and ask my girlfriend to marry me."

"What's her name?"

"Maggie. She works as a nurse in a hospital back home...I love her more than words can say."

"She sounds like my Ingrid."

"You have children?"

"No, just Ingrid and I. We have a black lab if that counts as a child."

Hogan chuckled lightly, placing his right hand on his belly.

"I'll consider that close enough."

Klaussner got to his feet and grabbed his clipboard.

"I'd love to stay here and chat, but there are other patients I must tend to. Get some rest, and I'll be back later."

Hogan nodded and watched his friend leave the room. Once the old man had exited, the colonel grabbed his book and continued where he had left off.

* * *

(1) Asystole - fancy medical terminology for 'cardiac arrest'.

(2) Muscles strains recover at different rates depending on their grading system. A grade one muscle tear/strain takes up anywhere from a week or two to recover from. Grade three is the worst and takes the longest. I gave Hogan a grade one for this story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Hogan's wrist was healing quickly, which pleased Klaussner. The cast would be able to come off in another couple of days and soon Hogan would regain the use of his left hand. The colonel was also beginning to be able to walk short distances, which thrilled him. He was sick of being confined in a bed. Most of the time, he had to be wheeled around in a wheelchair if he wanted to go anywhere, but he could walk a couple feet before growing tired and weak.

Klaussner was listening to Hogan's stomach through his stethoscope, when the door opened abruptly and two men dressed in black with red armbands made their way through. They walked forward and stopped at the foot of the colonel's bed.

Hogan's face remained observant, but fear was eating at him on the inside. Gestapo. He had prayed he would never encounter one of these men. He knew what they did to people. He knew how so many innocent lives had died under their hand. Their methods; their sick, twisted methods that broke a person to death or insanity. He was more scared of them now facing them face to face than he had been of them before.

The old German doctor gave the two men his attention and crossed his arms.

"Sergeants, what can I do for you this evening?" Klaussner asked, suspicious.

" _Guten abend, Herr Doctor_. I am Sergeant Herrmann, and that's Sergeant von Engel. We have received news that an American colonel was admitted into this hospital about a little over a week ago." Herrmann replied. His eyes turned to Hogan and sensed something off about him instantly.

Herrmann could not have been more than 20 years of age. He had thick black hair and dark blue eyes. He was thin built and looked about 5'11". Von Engel was the same height and thin as well, but he had dark blonde hair and green eyes. He did not look more than 21 either.

"A colonel by the name of Robert E. Hogan," von Engel said, unamused.

Herrmann made his way towards Klaussner, grabbed his clipboard, and looked at the patient's files. The Gestapo sergeant chuckled softly, then he lifted his eyes and glared at Hogan with a sinister smile.

"Found him," he said softly.

Hogan swallowed and did his best to hide his fear.

"Sergeant, this man's currently suffering from a serious medical condition. He nearly crashed twice since being admitted." Klaussner answered. The man showed little to no anxiety in front of these men. If anything, he showed determination and authority. Klaussner glared at both Gestapo sergeants like a hawk, not flinching an inch under their eyes.

"Do you know this is one of Germany's most wanted Allied officers?" Herrmann retorted, fierce.

"I do not have time to listen to every broadcast on radio with the job I have, Sergeant." Klaussner replied.

"We should take this man to Gestapo Headquarters and question him." von Engel suggested.

"Or an oflag," Herrmann said. His eyes never left the colonel before him.

"This man is not in any condition to be moved or transferred to a POW camp." Klaussner argued. "He would be _useless_ to question or transfer to an oflag."

Hogan remained silent through all of this and watched the exchange between the sergeants and his new friend.

"What do _you_ suggest then, Doctor?" von Engel hissed.

Klaussner turned to look at Hogan, rubbed his chin, then smiled and laughed softly.

"I know _exactly_ what to do with him," he said menacingly. "Send him to Stalag 13 as soon as he's well enough."

"Stalag 13!" von Engel exclaimed.

"That's a Luft Stalag, though. Officers can not go to stalags." Herrmann protested.

"Stalag 13 is the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. There's never been one escape from there," Klaussner said.

"He's right, you know," von Engel said, to his partner.

"And the kommandant there is one of the meanest, intimidating ones I've ever met." Klaussner continued.

"Kommandant Klink?!" Herrmann gasped.

"I've heard he's nothing more than a bumbling moron." von Engel scoffed.

"It's all an act, Sergeant. He's brutal I say, _brutal_!" The old man replied.

"I don't believe a man could be that good of an actor."

"He's a remarkable and highly believable one, Sergeant von Engel. I caught him in the act one day while there checking on a prisoner ailing from pneumonia. I was leaving one of the barracks and saw him catch one of the men trying to jump the fence. He took the man, stripped his shirt off, and whipped him with a leather strap senselessly for hours. I pretended to not see it and treated the man later. Kommandant Klink claimed the man had accidentally fell on the fence and received his injuries that way."

Von Engel swallowed a growing lump in his throat, his color draining from his face.

"He did that to one of his prisoners right in the open?" He trembled.

"Did worse to one of his guards later. Saw him get beat with a baseball bat and whipped with the same leather strap repeatedly. Claimed one of the dogs got loose and attacked him under confusion." The old doctor answered.

Both Gestapo sergeants turned to one another and gulped, fear shaking their bodies. They turned back to the doctor shivering.

"You're a _doctor_...you want us to send your patient somewhere where he'll get abused _more_?!" Herrmann quivered.

"Defending the enemy, Sergeant?" Klaussner asked, raising an eyebrow.

" _Never, Herr Doctor_!" Herrmann by now was sweating under the old doctor's stare.

"Then it's settled. As soon as he has recovered from his injuries, both of you will be contacted, and Colonel Hogan will be transferred to Stalag 13 for the remainder of the war." Klaussner stared at both men harshly. "Got it?!"

" _Jawohl, Herr Doctor!_ " Both sergeants answered. Both men were shivering within their boots.

"Now get out! Quickly!" The old man barked.

The two sergeants nodded and sprinted out of the room. They slammed the door behind them, and Klaussner gave a heavy sigh the minute he knew they were gone.

Hogan stared at the old man with daggers in his eyes. He thought this man had been his friend. That he had been different from the rest. He turned out to be a Kraut just like every other German.

"Traitor!" Hogan snarled. "I thought you were on _our_ side!"

Klaussner hushed him softly and checked to see if anyone else was in the room. Once satisfied, he turned back to his patient.

"Listen to me. All that stuff I said about Stalag 13 is a lie. It's probably one of the safest places to send you out of everywhere in Germany. It's a _summer camp_ compared to every other stalag and oflag in the entire nation," he said softly. "And Kommandant Klink, he couldn't be more of a chicken. The man fears his own shadow without a doubt. He's as harmless as a house fly."

"I don't believe you." Hogan hissed.

"You want me to go get those men and tell them otherwise?! I'm trying to save your life, because I think you're a kind hearted man and want you to go home and have that family you want after this war! I want you to live, I want you and the Allies to win the war, everything I told you is true! I hate Hitler and his men! I'd _kill_ them if I could! I don't want to see a good man like you die under those, those...demon hands!" Klaussner's eyes glistened in the only light coming from Hogan's lamp. They held compassion, sincerity, and fear in them. He wanted Hogan to survive. He wanted him to fight for freedom and a world without prejudice. He wanted him to go home to his parents, friends, his girlfriend and have about seven kids to love and care for. This man did not deserve to die. He did not deserve to be in this living nightmare the old man had to live in. He deserved every good thing known to mankind. He was his friend and wanted to protect him even if it meant losing his own life.

Hogan looked into the doctor's eyes and saw his feelings looking back at him. The old man was in emotional pain. He begged for help to stop Hitler. He was terrified and apprehensive at what his country was turning into. His feelings were genuine, and he could feel the compassion the old man had for him emanating off of him. Klaussner was his friend. He wanted anything _but_ torture and death for him. No one could pull off such a believable act. Not even the greatest actor could show such genuineness and honesty.

"You mean it, don't you," Hogan softly said. He looked at the man with empathy.

"Yes...I don't want Germany to be known for the Nazis and what these men are doing to so many innocent lives. People are dying, suffering severe abuse and mental trauma, and I want to die knowing I can't do anything to help them. No human being deserves to go through what so many people are enduring currently." Klaussner closed his eyes and felt tears burning down his face. His heart ached so. A country he once loved and felt so patriotic for was now a country he wanted nothing more to do with. A country that disgusted him to the core. He had seen several Allied soldiers and enemies of the Third Reich die due to how much abuse they had suffered under their captors. He had seen people he had known and trusted for years turn to Hitler's side and become complete immortal strangers to him. He did not just need Hogan as an ally, he needed him as his friend much more. He had been the first friend he had made since joining the underground years ago. Him and the Allies were his last hope at putting an end to Hitler's reign.

Klaussner felt something grab his hand and opened his eyes. He turned down to see Hogan gently holding his hand. The American placed his left hand gently on his belly and gave a smile of friendship and encouragement.

"We'll get 'em, Richard. Just hold on a little longer," Hogan said gently.

The old doctor felt a smile form on his face and nodded. _Truly a remarkable man_ , he thought to himself.

"Now, where were you?" The colonel asked, hoping the distraction would make the old doctor feel better.

That got Klaussner to laugh.

"Asking for a check up there? That's a first," he said.

"Don't get used to it," Hogan said, grinning. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. A very good sign that the American was getting better.

"Yes, sir." Klaussner answered, putting his stethoscope back on.

Closing his eyes, Hogan relaxed while his doctor listened to his heart. Klaussner looked up briefly at his friend and gave a big grin. His prayer for a miracle had certainly been answered, and he had it right in front of him as his patient and new confidant.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

( _Luft Stalag 13: Hammelburg, Germany-Two weeks later_ )

"Roll call! Everybody up for roll call! Up, up, up, up, up, up, _raus_! Everybody wake up!" Sergeant of the Guard, Hans Schultz, bellowed walking into barracks two. He banged on the bunk nearest to the door waking up the occupant of it, Royal Air Force Corporal Peter Newkirk, on the top bunk. The corporal was young, average weight, and about 5'11" to 6'0" tall. He had dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He currently was in a white nightgown that went down to his ankles.

"Ah, come on, Schultzie. Five more minutes, would yah mind?" The British corporal groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"No! Kommandant Klink says everybody up and ready for roll call in 20 minutes! Up! Everybody up!" The heavy guard barked.

"Alright, Schultz. We get it. 'Up and adam', as they say," Sergeant James Kinchloe, or as known by all his friends as 'Kinch', said. He was a tall, thin, and muscular man, about 6'2", an African American, and was wearing a sea foam green USA Air Force jumpsuit and a dark lime green hat. He lay on the bottom bunk in front of Newkirk's.

The heavy guard turned on his feet and made his way out of the barracks, leaving all thirteen men of barracks two to get dressed and ready for the day.

Newkirk moaned, kicked off the covers, then sat up and jumped down out of his bed. He turned over to Kinch, one of his two closest friends in camp.

"Do we _really_ have to get up this early in the morning? I don't think even Kommandant _himself_ likes getting up this early."

"Who knows who made the rule up. All I know is we better follow it." The staff sergeant answered, tying his boot lace.

"Or else what? We have to clean Klink's car?"

Kinch rolled his eyes, shook his head lightly, then went back to his boots. He had to be honest, though. The worst thing Kommandant Wilhelm Klink of Stalag 13 ever did to his prisoners was either put them in the cooler or have them do labor work such as garbage collecting or washing his shiny black staff car. He had the prisoners to thank for the sparkle and shine his car had.

"Get dressed before _I_ make you clean Klink's car," Kinch said teasingly.

"Got off on the wrong side of the bed, I see." Newkirk remarked, playful.

The two of them continued to get ready as the occupant above Kinch's bunk, Corporal Louis LeBeau from the Free French Air Force, jumped down all dressed and ready for another day at Stalag 13. He wore brown pants and a red sweater. He was short, about 5'5", had dark brown to almost black hair, and gentle brown eyes. Kinch and Newkirk were his best friends, as the three of them were all close since arriving to camp. They went and did everything together. They had their own little group and caused as much grief on the guards and their camp kommandant whenever they felt suited.

LeBeau made his way over to the other side of the bunk, leaned against one of the poles, and turned to look at Kinch finishing off his right boot.

"You sleep well, _mon ami_?" He asked casually.

"As well as one can sleep on these planks of wood we have for a mattress." Kinch answered. "What about you, Louis?"

"I was _fine_ until Schultzie woke us up."

"Am I the only one that's got a knot in me neck?" Newkirk groaned, rolling his head around. By that time, the English corporal was dressed and ready to go in his blue RAF uniform and black boots.

"Sleep on it wrong or something?" Kinch asked.

"I've got no bloody idea."

"Could be worse. You could have a minor concussion from someone whacking you in the head with a basketball." LeBeau remarked smug, looking right at Newkirk.

"Ah, come off it, Louis. I said I was sorry."

"I can't play volleyball for at least another two weeks because of it!"

"Settle down, folks. I don't need _another_ world war to worry about," Kinch said coolly.

Newkirk was about to speak, when the door slammed open again.

"Everybody outside for roll call!" Schultz bellowed.

The men of barracks two moaned and slowly trudged their way outside into formation. The weather was bitter cold, and the sun was no where to be seen. Patches of snow were scattered throughout camp and the once luscious green hills of grass were now covered in a blanket of white.

Kinch stood in the line behind Newkirk and LeBeau at roll call. All thirteen of them were trying to give the heavy guard grief by moving around and making him lose track of how many men were present.

"Stop it, all of you! You boys quit this monkey business and stand still!" Schultz ordered.

"Aw, Schultzie, lighten up. Have a little fun." LeBeau persisted.

"No! I must report to the Kommandant that all prisoners are present and that everybody is here!"

"Couldn't yah just write an IOU?" Newkirk asked, grinning.

All prisoners started bursting out in laughter.

"Corporal Newkirk, _please_! I do not want any trouble!" Schultz begged.

"Sorry, Schultz. We wouldn't be doing _our_ job if we didn't cause trouble," Kinch said, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

The heavy guard was about to speak, when the sound of a door slamming shut rang out through the entire camp and footsteps could be heard approaching.

"Schultz! Reeeeeepoooooooooort!" A tall, thin man's voice thundered. He had on a gray trench coat with fur at the collar, black leather gloves, a Luftwaffe officer's hat, and was carrying a swagger stick.

Kommandant Wilhelm Klink of the Luftwaffe was known for his perfect 'no escape' record and running the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. He had gentle light blue eyes, a face that looked more friendly than intimidating, and was balding. He wore a monocle in his left eye and always made every attempt to remind his prisoners who was in charge around the place. Egotistical more than psychotic. He bloomed like a flower if someone gave him praise.

Schultz turned to Klink, saluted his commanding officer, and got the same in return.

" _Herr Kommandant_ , all prisoners present and accounted for." The big guard answered, with a grin.

"Excellent, Schultz." Klink turned to the men of barracks two with a smug look of satisfaction on his face. "Gentlemen, it gives me great joy to report another successful victory for the Third Reich last night."

All the men groaned.

"Silence!" Klink ordered. Once the prisoners had quiet down, he continued. "I suggest you men take this as a sign. A sign that the Third Reich is the superior one in this war and will come out of this strong and invincible!"

"Hey, how many kommandants does it take to screw in a light bulb?" Newkirk abruptly asked his friends.

"How many?" Another man, Sergeant Richard Baker of the USA Air Force, asked.

"None. They're too stupid!"

Everyone started laughing and cheering.

"Corporal Newkirk! One more outburst like that, and it's 30 days in the cooler!" Klink threatened, shaking his fist in the air.

"Isn't that a little harsh for one joke, Kommandant?" Kinch asked.

"You stay out of this, or I'll throw you in there as well!"

All of them suddenly heard the sound of a car pulling into camp alongside the Kommandantur.

" _Now_ what?!" Klink moaned. He snapped his attention behind him and immediately straightened his posture and trembled. "Gestapo!"

The doors to the vehicle opened, and two officers all dressed in black made their appearance.

The kommandant snapped back to his prisoners.

"Diiiiiiisssssssmiiiiiiiiiissssed," Klink said, then quickly made his way towards his visitors.

As everyone dispersed to their usual morning routine, LeBeau and Newkirk surrounded Kinch and watched their kommandant and the two Gestapo officers.

"What do you think they're doing here, Kinch?" The little Frenchman asked softly.

"I couldn't tell yah if I wanted to." The sergeant answered, suspicious. His eyes never left sight of the Germans before them.

Newkirk's eyes observed every detail possible, when the car door on the opposite side opened and one of the men escorted another man, an Allied officer, out of the vehicle. He had on a brown hat, pants, a leather jacket, and black shoes. From what he could tell, the man was about 6'0" tall and had black hair. He was not heavy, but a little more than thin.

"Who's that?" The Englishman asked, curious.

"Looks like one of my guys. A United States Army Air Corps. Colonel if I ever saw one," Kinch said.

"A colonel! I've never seen a colonel before!" LeBeau gasped.

"Closest thing I've seen to one was Captain Chesterfield back in London." Newkirk grumbled, remembering his past commanding officer. How he had despised that man. He was not fond of military officers in general. They were all stuck up, arrogant, and pompous in Newkirk's mind. Every one he ever saw was the same way and had become fixed that it was the same with all officers.

The three of them watched the colonel, the two Gestapo men, and Klink make their way inside the Kommandantur and once all of them were in, Kinch turned to his friends.

"Come on. I think we could use our morning coffee break," The tall sergeant said.

" _Oui, mon ami_." LeBeau replied.

"This outta be good." Newkirk grumbled.

The three prisoners made their way back into the barracks and headed for the vacant room in the far corner. LeBeau closed the door behind them, and Kinch pulled out the coffee pot they had turned into a listening device connected to a speaker in Klink's office. They used it to find out what was going on with the Germans, and if they were up to anything new.

The staff sergeant plugged the device into the light socket and waited to hear an office door close.

"What's a colonel from the United States doing here?" LeBeau asked, curious.

"More importantly, who is he?" Newkirk sneered, crossing his arms.

Kinch hushed them.

"If you two quit talking, we'll find out," he said.

All three of them silenced and began listening in, hearing someone open the door to Klink's office.

* * *

"Captain Bauer, what can I do for the Gestapo on such a fine day?" Klink asked, smiling like a moron.

"It's freezing outside, though," the Gestapo lieutenant said, confused.

Bauer slowly turned his head towards the man and glared at him. Seeing the look on his superior's face, the lieutenant went back to standing still and never said another word unless spoken to.

"We have brought you a new prisoner for your camp. He is one of Berlin's Most Wanted and thought that bringing him to the toughest POW camp in all of Germany would be a nice fit for him. Colonel Robert Hogan of the United States Army Air Corps," Bauer said, with a sly smile.

Klink looked down at the man sitting in the chair across from his desk. Hogan lifted his eyes up quickly at the bald German colonel, then back down at his hands in his lap. His eyes were a soft brown, yet there was a twinkle of mischief in them. Certainly not a violent man, but he had 'trouble maker' written all over him. The kommandant could feel the aura he brought to the room. A feeling of discomfort yet welcoming. He did not understand it, though. How could an arch enemy of the Third Reich be both a nightmare and joy?

Klink lifted his eyes back to Bauer.

"What do you know about him?" He asked, curious.

" _Nothing_. The man's more lock jawed than an oyster." The captain answered coldly.

Fighting back the shivering his body felt like doing, Klink returned his eyes to Hogan and put on his most intimidating look possible. It helped little to nothing.

"Alright, Colonel. Speak for yourself. Who are you?" The old colonel interrogated.

"Colonel Robert Hogan, United States Army Air Corps. Serial number O876707." The American answered.

"And where is your base, Colonel?"

Hogan merely turned his attention to Klink and looked at him simply.

"Not talking, huh? _Well_...we'll _see_ about that!" The German colonel exclaimed.

"It's useless, Colonel Klink. That man's not going to speak. I've been interrogating him for 72 hours and none of our methods worked on him." Bauer remarked, distasteful.

Klink chuckled.

"Maybe he's just a little shy, Captain?" He was smiling goofy again.

Hogan rolled his eyes and went back to listening to the exchange between the German officers. _How did this man become a Luftwaffe colonel anyways_ , he wondered.

"It's an act. The man's a killer. He's just trying to bluff his way out of this." Bauer continued.

"I can assure you, Captain Bauer, that no man can bluff me. I run the toughest, strictest POW camp in all of Germany. _No one_ has ever escaped from Stalag 13!" Klink spoke proudly.

"And that worries me, Kommandant." The captain remarked rancorously.

It took all of Hogan's will power to fight back from smiling and laughing, but a snicker slipped out regardless.

Klink snapped his head towards the colonel and eyed him down like a hawk.

"What are you laughing at?!" He barked.

Hogan fixed his posture and fell silent.

Once the American settled down again, Klink turned his attention back to the two Gestapo officers.

"He's _your_ problem now, Colonel." Bauer turned his eyes to Hogan. "Keep an eye on this one. He's a troublemaker, and I can feel it." He hissed.

"Yes, Captain Bauer," Klink said, meek.

" _Heil Hitler_!" Bauer cried.

" _Heil Hitler_."

The two Gestapo men made their exit and closed the door behind them. Hearing their car pull out of camp, Klink made his attention back on Hogan.

"Alright, they're gone. Spill it, who are you and what do you want?" He asked softly.

The American merely glared at him. He was not giving this man any time of day. He wanted to go back to London. He wanted to see Rick, General Berkman, and his men again. He wanted out of Germany as soon as he got the opportunity to do so.

Klink moaned slightly.

"You're a tough nut to crack, Colonel Hogan."

The American raised his eyebrow slightly, his attention remained fixed on the Luftwaffe officer.

"Colonel, let's make things clear right now. I am the camp kommandant of this camp and have never had a successful escape from Stalag 13. Not _one_!"

"So I've heard," Hogan finally said.

"As long as you don't bother _me_ , I will not bother _you_. Just follow my orders and keep these men in order. At this moment, I am making you official Senior POW Officer of Stalag 13. Any complaints from the men will go to you, and you will come to me."

"A Kraut making a compromise with the enemy. That's certainly a new one."

"Hogan, don't push me around! I can just as quickly have you _shot_ if you keep your attitude up!"

"You won't, though." The American could read right through him. Klink was too soft. He would not even _dream_ about shooting another human being. He would have fun with this man.

The kommandant glared at Hogan a bit longer, then he snapped his head towards his door.

"Schultz!" He called.

Klink's office door opened, and the heavy guard entered and saluted.

"You wanted to see me, _Herr Kommandant_?" He asked.

"Take Colonel Hogan to barracks two. He can reside there in the private room in the corner."

" _Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_!"

Klink stepped closer towards Hogan and put his face real close to the American's.

"I'm watching you, Colonel Hogan. I have ears and eyes like a hawk." The German kommandant warned.

The American gave a smile of mischief.

"Hawks don't wear monocles," he said, not able to resist.

Klink stiffened and pointed to his door.

"Out!" He bellowed.

Hogan stood to his feet, saluted Klink sloppy, then was escorted to the barracks by Schultz. Once they had left, the kommandant plopped into his desk chair and started rubbing his temples.

"Oh...I've got a headache, and I haven't even known that man for a minute." He murmured.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

"I like that colonel," LeBeau said, with excitement.

Newkirk scoffed and crossed his arms.

"He sounds like a big shot like the rest of 'em." The Englishman sneered.

All three of them fell quiet after hearing Klink's door close.

"He's coming!" Newkirk cried.

"What do we do?" LeBeau asked, in a panic.

"Everyone, act natural," Kinch said.

They put the coffee pot away, hurried out to the main area, and LeBeau and Kinch sat down at the table. Newkirk leaned against his bunk's pole and began telling them a fake story right as the door opened, and Schultz and Hogan came in.

"So then I tell the guy that…" Trailing off like their presence had taken them by surprise, LeBeau, Newkirk, and Kinch all turned their attention to their friendly Luftwaffe sergeant and new Senior POW.

"Colonel Hogan, _this_ is barracks two, and _that_ is your room over there," Schultz said, pointing to the far corner.

The American officer looked back briefly, then returned his attention to the big guard. His eyes trailed off though, when he saw the three prisoners watching him. One was a tall African American, another was a short Frenchman, and the last one was a flyer from the RAF about his height.

"Who are they?" Hogan asked, curious.

"Colonel Hogan, _please_ keep those boys out of the Kommandant's hair. It could mean my _life_ with their monkey business." Schultz pleaded.

The colonel scanned the area in front of him, and he gave the German guard a sideways smile.

"I don't see any monkeys in here, Sergeant. You sure you're feeling alright?" He answered.

It took every bone in Newkirk, LeBeau, and Kinch's body to fight back laughter, but it did no good.

"What are you laughing at?" Schultz demanded.

All three enlisted men stopped automatically and stood up straight.

Hogan chuckled, shook his head, then looked up friendly to the big guard. This man was far from an enemy. He was nothing more than a big softie, and Hogan could put up with that.

"Alright, thanks, Schultz. If I need anything, I'll let you know," he said.

" _Danke_. Oh, and Colonel Hogan."

The man in question was about to head towards his new room, when Schultz's voice stopped him.

"Try not to need me." He whimpered.

Hogan smirked.

"We'll see," he said.

Schultz left the barracks, and the colonel made his way into his new quarters, leaving Newkirk, LeBeau, and Kinch behind. The sergeant stepped forward and turned to his two friends. He specifically was looking at the British corporal.

"Well?" Kinch questioned.

Newkirk gave a small smile.

"Alright, I like him a _little_ bit," he said, shy.

"Please. You like him as much as we do." LeBeau prodded.

"I ain't making a decision about him until I actually speak to the man. For all we know, he could be one of the biggest egomaniacs there ever was."

"Bigger than Klink?" Kinch asked, his eyebrow raised.

"Now let's not go crazy here, mate. I didn't say _the_ biggest egomaniac." The Englishman responded.

"Come on! Let's go say 'hi'!" LeBeau exclaimed softly.

"Aw, leave him be, Louis. He'll deal with us when he's ready."

Kinch rolled his eyes and yanked his friend toward Hogan's room with LeBeau following from behind.

"Now wait a minute! I have a very important game of gin against Philips in barracks nine to go to!" Newkirk cried.

"It can wait," LeBeau said, a bit irritated.

Kinch opened the door and waited for Hogan to permit them entrance.

The American was putting some clothes away in his closet, when he felt a slight draft coming in. He turned to his left and spotted the three men he saw earlier. Hogan gave a small grin.

"Well, hi there," he said friendly.

"Hello, sir," Kinch said, for the three of them.

"You boys need something?" He asked, curious.

"We just wanted to say 'hi' and 'welcome to Stalag 13'."

LeBeau scoffed.

"Welcome. We should be giving him a sympathy card." The little Frenchman remarked.

"You'd rather go hang out at Stalag 4?" Newkirk asked, smart.

"...Welcome to Stalag 13, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan smirked and shook his head.

"Well, thank you. I appreciate it," he said softly.

"I'm Sergeant James Kinchloe, but everyone calls me 'Kinch'. This is Corporal Peter Newkirk and Corporal Louis LeBeau." The sergeant gestured to both of his friends.

" _Bonjour_ ," LeBeau said friendly.

"How do you do?" Hogan replied.

"Very well."

"And you, sir?" Kinch asked.

The colonel let out a deep breath, looked around at his new room, then back at the men.

"Oh, I'm alright. Just tired is all. Two weeks in the hospital, three days in Gestapo Headquarters, now I'm here in a POW camp that I've only been in for about three hours now."

"The hospital?!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"What did they to you, beat you to a pulp?!" Newkirk added.

Hogan shook his head softly and gave a sad sigh.

"No...it wasn't that."

"You wanna talk about it?" Kinch asked, concerned.

"No...it's over and done now. I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to get settled in and go see the camp medic for a physical afterwards. My busy day continues."

"Don't worry, Colonel Hogan. Joe's very nice." LeBeau promised.

The American cocked his head slightly and looked at the little man quizzically.

"Who's Joe?" Hogan asked, confused.

"The camp medic, sir: Sergeant Joe Wilson. He's gentle, don't worry." Kinch replied.

The American officer nodded.

"Good to know," he simply said.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" LeBeau asked.

"I haven't had a decent meal in 72 hours. I'm _starving_!"

"I will make you something to eat by the time you get back from your physical, _mon ami_. You won't be disappointed."

"If you're making it, I'll believe it." Newkirk commented.

Hogan gave a tired smile at the three. He liked them. He did not know them, but he liked them. He hoped they felt the same towards him.

"You three let me know if you need anything. Until that meal's ready, I'll be in here unpacking and then headed for that physical."

"We'll leave you be, Colonel. And welcome," Kinch said, with a smile.

The sergeant's only response was a smile and nod.

With that, Kinch closed the door behind him. He and his friends moved away from Hogan's room and spoke to one another softly.

"What do you think?" LeBeau was the first to ask.

"He seems like a nice guy," Kinch said.

"Doesn't seem like an arrogant bloke." Newkirk commented.

"Can yah loosen up, then? Cut the 'all military officers are bastards' act?"

"I need more time before I decide whether he's a good guy or not. I'll be courteous, but I ain't exchanging phone numbers with him just yet."

"Good enough."

"Hey! Maybe he can help us with..." Newkirk and Kinch immediately hushed LeBeau harshly.

"No one says a _word_ about it, got it?" The sergeant ordered.

"He can be trusted! He's an American colonel!" LeBeau remarked, sharp.

"He can just as well be a Kraut undercover sent here to spy on us." Newkirk growled.

"Colonel Hogan is _not_ a Kraut. My instincts are never wrong!"

Kinch looked back to Hogan's door, making sure he had not heard any of the shouting. Satisfied, he turned back to Newkirk and LeBeau.

"We'll check him out with London and give him a week. If he doesn't do anything suspicious and is cleared with London, I'll _consider_ letting him know what we've been up to around here," he said softly.

LeBeau crossed his arms and looked at his friends with a pout.

"He's not a Kraut. He seems like a _very_ nice man." He grumbled.

"It's just a safety precaution, Louis. I'm not pointing fingers at anyone yet. I'm sure he's another POW who wants this war over as much as we do." Kinch answered softly.

Hogan's door opened and out walked the colonel himself. The sound of a door opening made all three enlisted men snap their attention to where the sound had come from. All of their eyes on him, Hogan was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. He watched the three of them cautiously.

"Something the matter?" The colonel finally asked.

"No, just having a small 'Escaping Committee' meeting is all," Kinch said.

"An Escape Committee?"

"We meet every Tuesday night in the rec hall." LeBeau clarified.

Hogan smirked.

"I'll consider that thought. In the meanwhile, I'm off for a check up." The colonel left the barracks without another word.

Once they were sure he was gone, Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk turned back to face one another.

"When do we start, mate?" The English corporal asked.

"Newkirk, go in his quarters and do a little investigating. Make sure to leave everything as he left it. Try and see if you can find any IDs or verify his clothes are United States made." Kinch answered.

"Right, mate."

Newkirk hurried off to Hogan's room to carry out his orders.

"LeBeau, you start cooking that meal for the Colonel. I'll be downstairs on the radio. Stomp your foot twice if he comes back."

" _Oui, mon ami_."

The little Frenchman hurried to the stove, and Kinch made his way to the bunk he and LeBeau shared. He banged on the side of it twice, a ladder suddenly fell, and Kinch's bunk raised up. An exposed hole leading down underground was the result, and the staff sergeant made his descent down the ladder and disappeared beneath the barracks.

* * *

Hogan opened the door to the infirmary and stepped inside slowly. He closed the door behind him and looked around the building. The main area had eight beds in total, four against each wall, a desk in the corner across from the door, and there was another entrance to a hallway in the back. It looked like where the bathrooms, storage closet, or another private room or two would be located. The walls were painted an ocean blue, the beds were white with a dark blue blanket on top, and the floor was fake marble tiles.

The colonel made his way further inside and sat down on the first bed closest to him. He put his hands in his lap and looked around a bit more. He had to admit for a POW camp in Germany, it was pretty nice. It was clean and sanitized. Klaussner had been right about this place. It was probably one of the safest environments in Germany he'd been in since waking up in the hospital over two weeks ago.

Feeling a small pang in his abdomen, Hogan put his hand on his belly, still swollen a bit from his injuries and operations, and continued waiting for this Sergeant Wilson the men back in his barracks had told them about.

As he continued to sit there, Hogan's mind could not help but think of the three men who had welcomed him to Stalag 13 in their barracks. Sergeant Kinchloe had seemed like a quiet, reserved guy, but knew how to have fun once and awhile. The Frenchman, Corporal LeBeau, he was an energetic little man. He had excitement and was an extreme social butterfly, but seemed to be someone who was loyal and devoted to his loved ones to the death. Then there was Corporal Newkirk. The man had said little to nothing to the colonel in their first encounter. He did not seem to be a bad guy, but he could feel a little tension between the man and himself. Newkirk felt like someone who you had to earn respect from, but once you had it, he would stick to your side and support you through thick and thin. All and all, the three of them sounded like the kind of friends anyone could want in life. When he got back, he would try to get to know them a little more and hopefully make them his friends. If lucky, he would become _their_ friend.

Hogan was brought out of his thoughts, when he heard footsteps from behind him. He turned his head back and saw a man, about middle aged, walk out from the other area of the infirmary. He was flipping through papers on a clipboard and seemed to not even notice the colonel's presence.

Suddenly sensing someone else in the room, the man looked up from his charts and spotted Hogan.

"Well," he said, surprised. "You must be Colonel Hogan. Kommandant Klink told me I was expecting a patient sometime today."

"You're Sergeant Wilson?" Hogan answered, unsure of himself.

"The one and only. I'm camp medic of this place. Welcome to Stalag 13."

"Thank you...Kommandant said you were to give me a physical?"

"All new prisoners have to go through a physical. Klink wants to make sure none of his patients spread contagious viruses like influenza."

"And the Kommandant? How's he?"

"Klink?" Wilson scoffed. "That man's more harmless than a newborn is. Give him a compliment, and he'll let yah off the hook for whatever it was you did to upset him."

"So I've heard. Well...let's get this over with. I'd like to get back to the barracks and write a letter to my family. I need them to know I'm alright...for the most part, that is."

"Alright, Colonel. Lay down where you are and just try to relax."

"Relax in a POW camp under the Krauts' command? You've gotta be outta your mind."

Wilson shook his head and gave a faint grin. _A man with a sense of humor_ , he thought to himself. _Could always use more of those in times like these_.

The camp medic took out his stethoscope and began listening to Hogan's heart. A very healthy and strong one, too. He then listened to his patient's breathing. That was all good, too. Finished with his stethoscope, he put it back around his neck and pressed down on Hogan's abdomen to check for digestive maladies. That made the colonel moan loudly and grab his belly.

Wilson stepped back with his hands in the air, alarmed he had hurt the man.

"Are you alright? Did I do something?" The medic asked, anxious.

Hogan grimaced, rubbed his middle gently, then turned to look at Wilson. He could see the fear and genuine concern in the medic's eyes. He gave a small smile in response.

"I'm alright. Just have quite a battle wound is all."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, unbuttoned Hogan's shirt a little, and he was instantly alarmed at the stitching and scarring on his abdomen.

"My God! What did the Gestapo _do_ to you?! Carve you up like a jack-o-lantern?!" He gasped.

The colonel gave a sad sigh. Why did everyone have to keep asking about his injuries?

"No...not the Gestapo...it was from when my plane was shot down over Hammelburg." Hogan's eyes were filled with sadness and pain. Wilson caught it immediately and knew something was bothering the man deeply.

"Something you want to talk about, Colonel?" He asked softly.

Hogan had his head turned away from the medic slightly, and his eyes focused on something elsewhere. He shook his head gently and sighed heavily.

"No...I don't want to remember it."

"It'll help talking about it." Wilson prodded gently.

"Nothing can help me about that night, Sergeant...my best friend might…" Hogan could not finish his thought. It broke his heart knowing that Rick might have not made it to safety. Where was he? How was he? Was he alright? Did the Germans find him? Was he...dead? That last question was the one that made him feel like breaking down. He knew people died in war. It was expected and a known fact going into the military field...but his best friend? Out of all the men in the military, why might it have been him?

 _That guy goes just about everywhere in the world. He's always traveling and seeing new places. I wanna do that as soon as the war's over. I want to go to just about every place I can: Rome, Morocco, Milan, Paris...what about you_ , Rick's voice said, in his mind. It made a couple tears run down the colonel's cheeks. He closed his eyes tight to try and stop them.

Wilson looked at the new prisoner with empathy held in his eyes.

"You're worried about him, aren't you," he said softly.

Hogan let out a shaky breath, his eyes still closed.

"Worried would be an understatement for how I feel right now," was the colonel's response.

"I'm sure he's just fine, Colonel. I can feel it. I don't know what else to say other than 'I'm sorry'."

Hogan turned his head towards Wilson and saw the sincerity and compassion his face held. The medic wanted to do anything he could that might make him feel better, and was fighting to try and figure out what that would be. He could feel the man's friendship and warmth, and it comforted him in his time of need. As a response, Hogan gave a sad smile.

"Just listening is all I need," he said softly.

Wilson smiled back and nodded.

"I'm always here if you need someone to talk to, Colonel...and call me 'Joe'."

Hogan gave a bigger smile and nodded back.

"Finish this thing up, would you? I was never good visiting the doctor's office."

The medic smirked.

"Yes, where was I?" He answered.

The colonel closed his eyes and relaxed, while Wilson resumed his medical examination on his new Senior POW Officer and friend.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

LeBeau stood at the stove with a pan and was preparing his famous scrambled eggs for his new Senior POW. He was humming a French song and completely lost in his cooking. The little Frenchman was known for his love of culinary arts, and it showed in the amount of time and effort he put into making each meal. When the war was over, he was returning to his beautiful Paris and save enough money to open his own restaurant and work as a chef.

Totally unaware of his surroundings, he never heard Newkirk exit Hogan's room and close the door behind him. The Englishman smelled the scent of bacon and scrambled eggs and groaned in delight.

"Louis, yah better be making enough for all of us. You're making me hungry at this rate." He commented, grinning.

" _Oui_. Do not worry, Pierre. You'll get your fair share." LeBeau answered, salting the eggs a little.

"Mmm, mmm, mmmmmmmm!" Newkirk moaned.

The fake bunk opened, exposing the tunnel entrance again, and Kinch crawled up from underneath. Once inside the barracks, the sergeant banged the hidden mechanism on the side of LeBeau's bunk, and the entrance disappeared from sight. He smelled LeBeau's cooking and groaned.

"Mmmmmmm. Louis, that smells amazing."

" _Merci, mon ami_."

Kinch turned to Newkirk, and his facial expression became serious.

"You find anything?" He asked the British corporal.

"Looks authentic to me, mate. Clothes, uniform, shoes, and hat all issued by the United States military."

"Anything else?"

"Not much. Just a bathrobe, a few sets of pajamas, and a journal."

Kinch eyed him carefully.

"Don't tell me you read through it, did you?" He asked, suspicious.

Newkirk fell silent, rubbed his neck, and made a facial expression of discomfort.

"I may have...read one or two entries," he said softly.

"Pierre!" LeBeau cried.

"You went through a man's journal and read his entries?" Kinch gasped.

"Just two, not many! Don't get your knickers in a knot."

"What did you read?"

"Nothing too exciting. Both were on assignments he completed with his crew on that day. Nothing spontaneous or anything."

"Newkirk, no more snooping through people's journals, understand?"

"Yes, Kinch...sorry, mate."

LeBeau started rubbing the back of his neck and turned a little read.

"While we're confessing here, I might have...gone through a...little bit of Pierre's black book," the little Frenchman said, ashamed.

"You went through me footlocker?!" Newkirk exclaimed.

"I wanted to know if you knew any girls I know!"

Kinch raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head.

"Oh, Louis...no wonder where he gets it from." He teased.

Newkirk glared at his little friend for a brief moment, then turned his attention back to the sergeant.

"You find out anything, mate?" He asked, trying to move on to a different topic.

Kinch unfolded a piece of blue paper in his hands and began reading off the information.

"Colonel Robert Edward Hogan, born in Cleveland, Ohio on July 13, 1912. Parents George and Nancy Hogan. 6'0" tall and 179 pounds. Raised and graduated high school in Cleveland in the top 10% of his class."

Newkirk whistled. He was impressed with the man's academic history despite the fact he had hated elementary school and upward. He pursued a career in being a stand up comedian and part-time magician immediately after graduating from high school and went into the military soon after World War II had begun.

"Wow. What else?" LeBeau asked, intrigued.

"Attended West Point Military Academy in New York and graduated as a full ranked colonel in the top 15%. Was given military orders in May 1940 to be stationed at an air base in London to work with the RAF. Became commander of the 504th Bombing Squadron December 12, 1941 and commanded a group of ten men total including him. Shot down by Luftwaffe fighter planes over Hammelburg January 23, 1942."

"Not too long he's been here, then." Newkirk answered.

"What happened to Colonel Hogan's men?" LeBeau asked, curious.

"Six made it back to London safely and are reinstated in a new Bombing Squadron. The other three weren't as lucky. One is a prisoner of war in a stalag near Salzwedel, and the other two are currently MIA." Kinch answered.

Newkirk shook his head.

"Poor mates. I hope they're alright...wherever they are," he said.

"London says Colonel Hogan's probably one of the most loyal Allies they know of. They say he can be trusted with our lives, but I wanna wait about week before we decide whether we can tell him about...you know." Kinch continued.

"What did I tell you? I _knew_ Colonel Hogan could be trusted!" LeBeau answered, victorious.

"Oh, put a sock in it, yah peeping' Tom." Newkirk sneered.

" _Excuse moi_ , what was that you just were doing in _there_?" The Frenchman remarked, pointing towards Hogan's room.

"I did it for investigative purposes, not just to go snooping around in other people's belongings."

"Oh sure. _That's_ what it was."

The English corporal glared at LeBeau just as Hogan entered into the barracks. The colonel sniffed the air and moaned.

"LeBeau, that smells delicious," Hogan said, with delight.

" _Merci, Colonel_ ," LeBeau said, smiling.

"How did it go, Sir?" Kinch asked, concerned.

"Wilson says I'm as healthy as a horse despite my healing injuries."

"I'd sure like to do a thing or two to those bloody bastards who did that to you, sir." Newkirk hissed, punching his left palm.

"Easy, Newkirk." Kinch coaxed firmly.

"When's that gonna be ready?" Hogan asked, completely ignoring the other two men.

"In about... _now_." LeBeau answered, beaming.

"Give me a big plate full of those. I've never seen more perfect eggs."

The little Frenchman took the compliments in full strive and put a bunch of eggs on Hogan's plate with a buttery biscuit and two strips of bacon.

"At least _someone_ compliments my cooking around here," LeBeau said, smug to Newkirk.

"Aw, come on, Louis. That was _one_ meal!"

"We French are not easy to forgive."

The Englishman sighed with frustration and shook his head.

"Just give me a plate, would yah?" He growled.

LeBeau gave a serving to Newkirk, then Kinch, then finished with himself. All three men sat down at the table surrounding the colonel. LeBeau and Kinch sat on Hogan's left, and Newkirk sat on his right.

"So, Sir, what do you like?" The English corporal asked casually.

Hogan looked up from his food, cocked his head slightly to the left, and gave a puzzled look.

"What do I like?" He responded.

"Cooking, cleaning, knitting, dancing…" LeBeau was cut off by Newkirk.

"Not you. _Him_!"

"I was giving him an idea."

Newkirk rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to Hogan.

The colonel let out a short breath and pursed his lips for a moment.

"Oh, I guess reading, writing, listening to music, sports, always had a liking to playing the drums." He began.

"You can play the drums?" Kinch asked, surprised.

"Mainly jazz stuff. Once in awhile I'll do auxiliary and timpani work."

"Ox what?" LeBeau questioned, dumbfounded.

Hogan gave a soft smirk.

"Tambourine, the gong, maracas, the infamous triangle, those instruments."

"Is it true that a percussion player gets highly insulted being put on the triangle for a piece?" Kinch asked.

"Depends on what it is. I've had some pretty demanding triangle parts in my past."

"Please. How hard can it be to play the triangle?" LeBeau remarked, cocky.

"Can you play a triangle hanging upside down from the ceiling while singing?" The sergeant replied.

"No. I said 'playing the triangle'; not a one man show."

Hogan smiled and shook his head.

"What do _you_ guys like to do?" He asked friendly.

"Card games, gamble, read, sports, mess with good Ol' Bald Eagle there," Newkirk said, for all of them.

"Bald Eagle?"

"Kommandant calls himself the Iron Eagle. We make fun of him behind his back with the nickname Bald Eagle. Caught on quite quickly, frankly."

"Oh," Hogan said, nodding.

"I like to fix and build things. Radios, cars, telephones," Kinch said.

"Pierre likes to do safe cracking." LeBeau added.

"Yah had to bring _that_ up?" The British man asked, irritated.

"Guess I better double check my safe lock then." Hogan answered.

"Forget it, Colonel. It will do no good. Pierre could break into a safe lock blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back while reciting Great Britain's National Anthem," LeBeau said.

"It's a gift, really," Newkirk said, blushing. He could not help but be proud of his safe cracking, pick pocketing skills. He could wiggle his way out of just about everything that required those skills. Rarely did he ever struggle with accomplishing those kinds of tasks.

"Well, you respect my privacy, I'll respect yours." Hogan answered.

LeBeau just about died hearing that comment. He swallowed his coffee with difficulty, then with all his might, tried to fight down his laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing...you wouldn't get it."

Hogan raised his eyebrow with suspicion. He would press the situation further, but considering he had literally just met these men, he would put it aside for now.

"Well, I think I'm gonna go for a little walk around camp. Get familiar with the place. Looks like I'm not going anywhere for a while." The colonel got to his feet, put his dirty dishes in the sink, then headed for the door. "See you guys in a bit."

With that, Hogan closed the door behind him and was soon gone.

When he was sure the American officer was far away, LeBeau started cracking up and almost burst into tears.

"The irony of what he said!" He cackled.

"You could've blown our cover, yah know that?" Newkirk snarled.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Pierre...it was just so funny." The little Frenchman started laughing hysterically again.

"Blimey…"

"Well," Kinch said, desperate to change the topic of discussion. "What do you guys think so far?"

"I like him. Seems like a nice guy. Certainly not one of those Big Shots I knew back in London."

" _Oui_. He has earned my friendship." LeBeau replied.

"I like him, too...but we have to be careful. He could surprise us," Kinch said, cautious.

"With what?"

"He could be a traitor to his country."

"Colonel Hogan?! Not a chance! I _know_ he's one of us!"

"With what evidence besides intuition?"

The little Frenchman hung his head, knowing he had nothing to compete with.

"Look, Louis, it's not that we don't like him. It's just we have to think of every possibility with this guy. A military officer could make it or break it with what we're trying to do around here." Newkirk replied.

"I just like him is all. I _want_ him to be able to help us," LeBeau said sadly.

"We all like him, LeBeau. And I don't have a doubt in the world that Colonel Hogan's not one of them...we just have to take normal precautions. Just to be safe." Kinch spoke softly. He put a gentle hand on his little friend's shoulder.

"Besides, mate. What if someone came in here one day like the Gov'nor and was really a Kraut in disguise, like the Gestapo?" Newkirk asked.

"The Gov'nor," Kinch said, stunned.

"Gov'nor. Means 'Boss' or a sign of respect for someone in higher authority."

"Am I hearing what I think I am? Peter Newkirk respecting a military officer."

"Don't get used to it. Only reason I haven't licked him yet is 'cause he doesn't seem to have such a fat ego."

The sergeant rolled his eyes.

"Newkirk, you can be more of a problem than the entire war sometimes," he said.

"Try comparing him to _Klink_." LeBeau remarked.

The three enlisted men looked at one another expressionless for a moment before bursting out into laughter.

* * *

Night soon fell, and all prisoners were forbidden outside after hours. While Schultz was standing guard outside of barracks two, LeBeau, Newkirk, Kinch, Baker, and a few others were gathered around the table playing a huge round of poker. Hogan had resigned for the night in his quarters. All the walking he did around camp earlier wore him out greatly. He forgot just how exhausting his injuries made him feel after a few hours.

"Step right up, gentlemen. Rolling the die right now. Will it be luck or a downfall for one of our competitors?" Newkirk spoke, in an auctioneer's voice.

As the game continued and the gambles escalated quickly, there was a knock coming from underneath the fake bunk. Kinch looked over confused, then he made his way over. He banged the mechanism twice, and soon the tunnel entrance was exposed. It was Wilson, and the staff sergeant helped the medic into the barracks.

"Is everything alright, Joe?" Kinch asked, worried.

"For the most part, yes," Wilson said, crossing his arms.

"What is it?"

"Is Colonel Hogan around?"

"Is something wrong with him?"

"Not physically besides his injuries from being shot down."

By that time, LeBeau and Newkirk had joined Kinch and questioned why the camp medic was there.

"What's going on, mate?" The English corporal asked.

"Wilson has something to say about the Colonel." Kinch answered.

"Is he sick?" LeBeau asked, anxious.

"No, no, he's fine...for the most part, that is," Wilson said.

"What do you mean 'for the most part'?" Newkirk questioned.

"He's suffering mentally from anxiety and fear. I don't know if he told you about it or not."

"Besides what we got back on him from London, there's not much else."

The medic licked his lips and continued.

"When his plane was shot down, one of his men was his second in command and best friend, a Major Richard Schuerman. He was the last one to jump out before the Colonel himself...he's worried ill something awful happened to him. Captured by Krauts, in a POW camp somewhere, hurt...or worse."

"That's why he was so uptight about it when we asked about his injuries," Kinch said, a light bulb turning on in his mind.

"I wanted to ask you three to do me a favor. I hate knowing he's feeling like this."

"We hate knowing he's hurting, too," LeBeau said sadly.

"What do you want us to do, Joe?" Kinch asked, ready to help.

"I was wondering if you could do a little research on this man. Maybe locate where he is to give Colonel Hogan some ease. What area of Germany he might be in. Whether he's back in London or not. _Something_ to ease his nerves about the whole situation. Sure, he cares deeply for all nine men under his command, but...I've never seen such a strong friendship between two men...he loves that man like a brother." Wilson answered softly.

"I'll get on it right now," Kinch said, hurrying down the ladder into the tunnel.

Once he vanished, the medic turned to face his two friends.

"How is he?" He asked, with concern.

"He went to bed for the night. Took a walk around camp today, and it wore the poor man out." Newkirk answered, crossing his arms.

"He should be taking it easy. Those injuries he's recovering from are not just little scratch marks. I have his medical records from Richard. That man nearly crashed twice from severe blood loss. He needed about four blood transfusions and two operations to keep him alive."

" _Mon Dieu_!" LeBeau gasped.

"You're kidding!" Newkirk exclaimed.

"I'm not kidding. That's a very sick man despite how well he's recovered in his current condition. Keep an eye on him. Something tells me he doesn't listen to doctor's orders real well." Wilson continued.

"I sensed he was the stubborn type."

LeBeau lightly whacked his friend in the chest with his arm. It resulted with the English corporal glaring at him.

Wilson watched the exchange between both men, his facial expression not amused.

"Just keep an eye on him, will yah?" He ordered.

"We'll watch him, mate. Don't worry." Newkirk remarked.

The medic sighed, shook his head, and headed towards the tunnel entrance.

"I swear you two act like children sometimes," he said, then disappeared. Just as soon as he left, Kinch came back up and closed the tunnel entrance. He made his way towards his friends with no expression on his face.

"What did they say?" LeBeau asked softly.

"London's looking into it right now as we speak." The sergeant answered.

"When did they say they'll get back to us?" Newkirk asked.

" _That_ , I have no idea on. All they said was that they are looking into files and recent reports and would see if they could find anything on a Major Richard Schuerman of the USA Army Air Corps."

"What do we do until then?" LeBeau questioned.

"Until we hear anything...we wait."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

"Anything new from London, Kinch?" LeBeau asked, anxious.

Five days had gone by since Hogan first arrived to Stalag 13. So far, the colonel was proving himself to be another member of the Allies who wanted nothing more than to stop the Nazis and go home to his friends and family in Ohio. Kinch and Newkirk were starting to believe what their little Frenchman believed in so strongly. Perhaps Hogan _could_ be trusted. They would wait another two to three days just to be sure of themselves.

The three of them were still waiting on a response from London regarding where Rick might have been last seen or where he was currently and his current condition. Sadly, nothing had been heard of yet. Kinch and Baker spent shifts around the radio for the past four nights, waiting and praying for a response. They were determined to track down Hogan's friend and give their new Senior POW Officer a sense of peace and to help him stop fretting over his constant 'what if' and 'where' questions he kept having regarding his best friend.

It was morning, and while Hogan was in a meeting with Klink, LeBeau was cooking breakfast, Newkirk was drinking a cup of hot coffee leaning against his bunk pole, and Kinch had just emerged from underneath the ground. The sergeant sighed.

"They don't have any other information at the moment on the Colonel's plane being shot down or its crewmen specifically, but they did find this information on the Major," Kinch said, handing the piece of paper to Newkirk.

The Englishman unfolded it, looked at it briefly, then began reading it out loud.

"Major Richard 'Rick' Atticus Schuerman. 6'1" and 175 pounds. Born in Trenton, New Jersey on February 9, 1912. Raised and graduated high school in Cleveland, Ohio with the Colonel. Attended the same military school and graduated with a 3.675 GPA and a full ranked major. Assigned to the 504th on December 16, 1941 serving as the Gov'nor's second in command. Both men were in charge of eight men under their command. No further information available at this time."

"Does London know which six of his men made it back safely?" LeBeau asked.

"All they know is six made it back, one's in custody in Northern Germany, and two are MIA. As for who is who, they didn't know. They're looking further into those investigations," Kinch said.

"Six out of the nine made it back. That's a good thing, right?" Newkirk replied.

"Good for them. It won't be good if Major Schuerman isn't one of them. The news would kill the Colonel."

"Do we tell him the news...about his men I mean?"

"I'd like to wait until London gets back to us again. Hopefully, they'll have the identities of the men and where each one is."

"I can understand what the Gov'nor's probably feeling right now. This whole 'not knowing' is beginning to make _me_ stir crazy."

" _Oui. Moi aussi_...I wish there was something we could do," LeBeau sadly said.

"All we can do is wait and pray that Schuerman was one of those men who made it safely back to London." Kinch answered softly.

Newkirk nodded, then took another sip of coffee, when the door to the barracks opened. Hogan made his way silently inside and smiled at his three new friends.

"Morning, men. Hope you all slept well," he said.

"As well as anyone can sleep on a block of wood." Newkirk grumbled. He had never been a morning person.

"No kidding." Hogan put his hand on his lower back and tried stretching the knots out. "You think Joe knows a good chiropractor?"

Kinch smirked.

"I don't know, Sir. You'd have to ask him that." He answered.

"I might have to." The colonel sighed. "I think I'm gonna go lie down for a while. I didn't get much sleep last night with the back pain I kept having. I think these 'mattresses', as Klink calls them, are bad for my spine."

"Feel better soon, Colonel. We'll be fine for a few hours."

"Just relax, Colonel. We can take care of ourselves for a little bit." LeBeau added.

"Just as long Louis doesn't burn the place down." Newkirk teased. It got him a dirty look from the little Frenchman as a response.

Hogan chuckled lightly, put his hand on his middle, and nodded.

"Just behave yourselves is all I ask. Last thing I need is an angry old man with a monocle chasing me around with a cane swinging in the air."

All four men started laughing at that.

"That was a good one, Sir." Newkirk replied, grinning.

Hogan gave a small, tired smile back, then he entered his quarters and gently closed the door behind him.

LeBeau turned back to his friends and was beaming.

"I like him better and better each day," he said, with glee.

"So do I." Kinch agreed.

"If that ain't a unique man. Never met anyone else like him. Witty, clever, manipulates Klink and the guards like saying the alphabet, I can see why he graduated in the Top 15%. The man's _brilliant_!" Newkirk added.

" _Oui_. His personality is another!" LeBeau continued.

"Funny, intelligent, kind, giving...sounds like a pretty good guy to me," Kinch said.

"Can we tell him now? Please?"

The sergeant shook his head.

"Sorry, Louis...not yet. The saying says 'sometimes it takes a week to tell'."

The little Frenchman hung his head and went back to making breakfast.

" _I_ trust him." He grumbled, under his breath.

Newkirk gave a heavy sigh, then turned to look at Kinch.

"What do we do now in the meanwhile?" He asked.

"We could go throw some hoops after breakfast."

"In _this_ weather?!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"Alright...just making a suggestion."

"We could play one of those snow games." Newkirk proposed.

"What kind of snow game?" Kinch asked, suspicious.

"You know, one of those ones where you make a huge hill made of snow, take a sled up on the roof, and slide off into the snow below."

"And what happens if Klink catches us doing that? He'll make us repair the roof."

"I didn't say it was a _good_ game."

The sergeant turned his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head.

"What about snow dodgeball?" LeBeau asked.

" _Snow_ dodgeball?" Newkirk replied, confused.

"What do you mean by that?" Kinch questioned.

"Instead of using dodgeballs, why not use snowballs instead? Same rules, same concept, but with snowballs." The little man answered.

Newkirk took interest in that idea, and his facial expression showed.

"Not a bad idea there," he said.

"I like it. Neat twist to the good old game of dodgeball." Kinch added.

'Alright, we're in. We can get Olsen to join in and make it even." The English corporal suggested.

"We're gonna need more than four people to play dodgeball. We'll need at least six per team."

"Alright. You, me, Louis, Olsen, Scotty, and Garlotti will be one team, and we'll get six guys from barracks nine to join us for the other team."

"As long as one of them isn't Jefferson. The man's a walking tank."

"No kidding...me back's still recovering from that football game we had three weeks ago."

Kinch sniffed the air and smelled something good...whatever it was. It was rare that LeBeau made anything that did not smell appealing.

"LeBeau, you're making me hungry as usual," the sergeant said.

"What's on the menu today, mate?" Newkirk asked.

"Blueberry pancakes, bacon strips, and cheese omelets." The little Frenchman answered, tossing a pancake in the air and catching it in the pan.

"Being a show off there?" The Englishman prodded.

"I enjoy what I do, Pierre."

Newkirk smirked and shook his head.

"You wanna get Colonel Hogan, Kinch?" LeBeau asked, turning to the sergeant.

"Breakfast ready?" He asked.

" _Oui_."

Kinch headed for Hogan's quarters, and Newkirk headed for the stove with a plate.

* * *

Two days later, Kinch came out from the tunnels and closed the entrance. He found LeBeau doing the dishes, and Newkirk at the table playing a game of solitaire and smoking a cigarette. Kinch made his way towards Newkirk, who noticed someone was making an approach to him, and looked up at his friend.

"You hear anything yet?" The English corporal questioned, curious.

Kinch handed him the folded piece of paper with no expression on his face.

Sensing something was seriously wrong, Newkirk hesitated unfolding the sheet of paper and watched the sergeant's face for any sign of emotion while doing so. Once he had completed his task, he looked down to see what was written and gave a heavy sigh.

"Oh no," was all Newkirk said. "That's not good."

"What?" LeBeau asked, now curious. He made his way towards his friends, and the British man handed him the note. The Frenchman took it and read over it. His face became stricken with sorrow. "Oh no...is it true, _mon ami_?"

Kinch sighed sadly.

"I wish it weren't." He answered.

"Schuerman's one of the men MIA," Newkirk said, frowning.

"Do you have information on any of the others of Colonel Hogan's men?" LeBeau asked.

The sergeant shook his head.

"All they know is that he was not one of the men that made it back to London."

"That means he's still in Germany somewhere." Newkirk answered.

"He could be _anywhere_ , Pierre. Who knows where he might be." LeBeau responded.

"Kinch...you don't think he's…" The Englishman could not finish. He did not want to think about how sad Hogan would be finding out the news about his best friend.

"I don't know...I couldn't tell you if I wanted to, Newkirk. I've got people we know from the underground contacting other members we still have yet to meet searching the entire northern parts of Germany and the areas surrounding Hammelburg looking for him. They'll let us know if they find anyone meeting his description." The sergeant softly answered.

"Do we know anything other than his height and weight?" LeBeau asked.

"I asked London for a description of him when they reported he wasn't one of the men to make it back there. A 6'1" man weighing 175 lbs, dark blue eyes, short brown hair, and a bit of facial hair. Should be wearing the same thing the Colonel's wearing for the exception of no officer's hat."

"No officer's hat?"

"Where did it go?" Newkirk asked, curious.

"Apparently he's never worn it. I didn't get much more on him other than that." Kinch responded.

"Do we tell _mon Colonel_?" LeBeau hesitated in asking.

"Not unless we wanna expose our little 'side job' to him." The Englishman answered.

Kinch was silent briefly, looking like he was making a decision in his head, then nodded.

"I think it's safe to do that now," he said.

"Really?!" The little Frenchman cheered.

"But we tell him about Schuerman carefully. Don't be immediate with it. Let's tell him about what we're planning on doing around here, and _then_ we'll decide whether to wait a bit longer before breaking him the news."

"Poor Gov'nor," Newkirk said, depressed.

"He does not deserve to go through something like this." LeBeau agreed.

"Come on. Let's go tell him...where is he, anyways?" The sergeant asked.

"In his quarters. Said he wanted to do some reading and rest a bit. He was feeling a little tired."

"Maybe we should wait then."

"Let's just tell him about what we've been doing for now. If he seems up to it, we'll ease him into learning about the major." Newkirk suggested.

"Alright. If you think he's up to it."

The three of them made their way to Hogan's bedroom door, and Kinch gently knocked on it.

"Come in," a rather happy voice said.

Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk made their way into the room and found Hogan sitting at his desk with his journal and a pen. He must have been writing a journal entry.

The colonel looked up at them and smiled.

"Kinch, LeBeau, Newkirk, what can I do for you gentlemen?" He asked.

"Do you got a minute, Gov'nor?" The Englishman asked.

"Sure thing. What's up?"

"We've got something to tell you, Colonel." LeBeau began.

"More like show you." Kinch added.

Hogan raised his eyebrow, suspicious of what his new friends meant by that.

"What do you mean 'something to show me'?" He asked, careful.

"Follow us, sir," Kinch said.

Hogan slowly got to his feet, careful of not putting too much pressure on his wrist. He put his right hand on his middle gently once getting up and followed the three men out into the main area. Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau stopped at the fake bunk, then turned around to face the colonel. Hogan stood there confused and watched all three of them, unsure of what to think.

"What's going on here?" He asked.

"We wanna show you something we've been working on," Newkirk said.

"We're almost finished, but need to do a few things still." Kinch added.

"Which would be?" Hogan prodded.

"Show him, mate," the Englishman said, to the staff sergeant. Kinch turned and banged on the side of the bunk twice, making the entrance into their network of tunnels visible.

Hogan's eyes nearly fell out of his head, and his jaw dropped from its hinges. He turned to the three men and stared at them like a deer in headlights. None of them said a word.

"What is, what did, how did you…" Kinch cut the baffled colonel off.

"It's a long story we'll tell you after this. Come on, Colonel."

"Baker, watch the door." Newkirk ordered.

"Got it," said Baker.

Not knowing what else to do, Hogan followed the three men down the ladder and made his way into the tunnel. He looked around, completely stunned with what he was witnessing. When did they get time to do all of this, he questioned. And how in the world had none of the guards, let alone Klink, found out a single thing about it?

"Where do...where do they...how far…" Hogan babbled. It looked like a giant cave you would see out in nature or in a national park back home in the States.

"There's more," Kinch said.

"There's _more_?!"

Newkirk gestured for the officer to follow him. Doing as told, the colonel followed the Englishman, Kinch, and LeBeau down one tunnel and made their way into another room. There was a table, a bunch of equipment on the wall behind it, and a radio system on top of the table countertop laying next to several pens and pencils and a notepad with blue paper. Across from the table lay a cot with a pillow and a couple of blankets. It must have been used by someone waiting for a message to come in.

When he finally made his way into the room, Hogan stood agape at what he saw. Where did all this equipment come from? How did they get it in here undetected? Most importantly, what was it?

"My God." The colonel gasped. "What...what is it?"

"Colonel, this is our radio room. We come in here when we have to communicate with the underground and/or London." Kinch answered.

"The underground!" Hogan exclaimed.

"See all these wires and mechanical equipment back here? That's all the wires that lead to a hidden antenna inside the Nazi flag up on Klink's roof. That's how we get a signal to communicate with whoever it is we might need to get in contact with." Newkirk clarified.

"The rest of them are connected into the office itself for whenever we have to listen in on what's going on with other Krauts sent to visit." Kinch added.

"You're running an espionage operation right under Klink's nose?!" The colonel cried, stunned.

"We wanna run sabotage along with it, but that's part of the issues we have yet to deal with. For now, we're just listening in on what goes on above ground and small assignments within camp." Newkirk continued.

"And all these tunnels; where do they lead to?"

"Oh, just about every place in camp, sir! Klink's quarters, all barracks except for barracks four, it's never used. The infirmary, recreational center, the emergency exit…" Hogan cut the English corporal off.

"The emergency exit. What's that?"

"It's a tunnel that leads up to a fake tree stump. We've only used it twice since the sabotage and outdoor assignments are being worked out still. We use it momentarily for meeting with other underground agents outside camp. Several locations we have to meet them, as well."

"We're almost done with the tunnels, Colonel. We just have to finish one that leads to the cooler," LeBeau said.

Hogan walked around the room and gawked at everything around him. He was amazed at what these three men had accomplished in such a short amount of time. They must of had to had just about every prisoner in this camp help them dig a tunnel to finish it in such a short time frame.

"Amazing!" He marveled. "Absolutely _incredible_!"

"You think so, Colonel?" The little Frenchman asked, hopeful.

"Wow...I have to admit, I'm impressed."

"Thank you, Sir," Newkirk said, smiling.

"There any other rooms besides this one?"

"Oh, absolutely! Which one you wanna see? There's the sewing room, the telephone line room, a science lab, several guest rooms for any underground members, escaped prisoners, or downed flyers we might come across, a first aid room…"

"You've got your own little _house_ down here!"

"We're still working on an ammunition and firearm room. Newkirk and LeBeau are almost done with sewing and hemming German uniforms," Kinch said.

"We've got SS, Gestapo, Luftwaffe, just about any uniform you could ask for. Heck, we even have a Hitler uniform if we ever need it!" Newkirk spoke.

"Have several outfits to disguise us as everyday Germans, too, when we get further down the line." LeBeau added.

"How did you find the time to do all of this?" Hogan asked. He was infatuated with everything he was hearing and seeing. What these three had accomplished and completed this far was breathtaking. A functioning radio room, a science laboratory, enough uniforms and outfits to clothe the entire city of Hammelburg, what these men were doing was _remarkable_. He was more than proud of these three.

"A little while back in August, Louis and I decided to go through this wild scheme we had of an espionage operation and took a go at it. We managed to convince Klink to plant flowers around camp to spiff it up as a cover story. What we were really doing instead was digging all these tunnel networks and making entrances to other buildings within camp. Needed an explanation for all the dirt we would be digging up." Newkirk began.

"A short time after the Americans entered into the war, Kinch arrived here near the end of December," LeBeau said.

"I suggested the idea of having a sabotage component to the operation, and we thought it was brilliant. We've been perfecting everything we can ever since then." The sergeant added.

Hogan shook his head.

"Amazing. Just absolutely amazing," he said, still trying to take it all in.

"Glad you like it, Sir," Kinch said, with a grin.

"So, you've got ammo supply, a tunnel, and firearms still to worry about. Anything else?"

"Well, we're looking into finding a commanding officer, but wanted to wait until we got further along and finished up all these tunnels." Newkirk answered.

Hogan nodded and smiled.

"Well, I'm honored to know you trust me enough to tell me about this. My lips are sealed."

"Thanks, Colonel," Kinch said.

"Don't mention it."

With a grin on his face, Hogan made his way back to the ladder that led to their barracks, leaving the three enlisted men to themselves. It was all of a sudden when LeBeau's face lit up, the greatest idea coming to mind. He turned to face Kinch and Newkirk, about to speak, when the Englishman cut him to it. He knew _exactly_ what his little friend was thinking.

"Absolutely not!" He spat.

"Why not?!" LeBeau cried.

"The Gov'nor's got enough on 'is hands as it is. Keeping us all in line, manipulating Klink and the guards, worrying about his best friend and family back home, he'd _never_ do it with everything he's worrying about."

"He _would_ do it, I _know_ he would!"

"No!"

"We've got a bigger issue here, guys," Kinch said, hoping to break up their argument.

"Like what?" LeBeau asked, confused.

"How do we tell the Colonel about Schuerman?"

Newkirk closed his eyes and gave a look of sorrow.

"He's gonna find out sooner or later, might as well make it now and save him from false hope." The Englishman answered.

"Was thinking the same thing." Kinch answered.

"Couldn't we give it more time?" The little Frenchman asked.

"When do we know when or _if_ we'll get more information on him, Louis? Days, weeks, months, could be _years_ before they find him."

"He may be...you know by then." Newkirk added.

"I hate to do that to Colonel Hogan, though. Be the ones to have to tell him such devastating news," LeBeau sadly said.

"I don't wanna do it either, mate, but you know we have to."

"We'll tell him gently...come on, guys," Kinch said softly, gesturing towards the barracks.

LeBeau and Newkirk, hanging their heads in sorrow, followed the sergeant up the ladder and made their way towards Hogan's quarters.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

Hogan was laying in his bunk reading a book, when he heard a knock come on his door. He put the book down gently on his healing abdomen and sat there for a minute puzzled. Did Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk have _more_ to show him? Did they have a question for him?

Curious, the colonel got to his feet, made his way to the door, and opened it. Sure enough, it was the same three men as earlier. Their faces were expressionless and looked at the officer, something hidden in their eyes. It was giving Hogan a bad feeling, too.

"Gentlemen? Can I help you with something?" He asked cautiously.

"Can we come in for a minute, Sir?" Kinch asked.

"We've gotta tell yah something." Newkirk added.

Though suspicious, Hogan stood to the side and let the three enter into his quarters. He closed the door, then he turned himself and looked into his men's eyes. Hogan crossed his arms and his right leg over his left.

"Something the matter, here?" He questioned.

"We got some news from London a few days ago." Kinch began.

"We wanted you to know," LeBeau said softly.

"Know what?" Hogan asked, with interest.

"We know what happened to your men after your plane was shot down that night." The sergeant continued.

The colonel's eyes nearly fell out of his head. Had he just heard what he'd been dying to know since landing in Germany?  
"You know where my men are? Where?" He asked, anxious.

"We don't know who they are, but we know six of them are safely back in London waiting for reassignment."

"And what about the other three? Where are they?"

"One is in a POW camp in Northern Germany, and the other two are MIA." LeBeau answered.

"We don't know anything further, but we do know what happened to your second in command," Kinch said.

"Major Richard Schuerman."

"Rick...you know what happened to Rick? Where is he?" Hogan asked, his fear grabbing him. _Please let him be one of the six that made it back to London_ , he prayed silently.

The three enlisted men before him fell quiet, and it did not help ease Hogan's nerves. It only made them worse, as a matter of fact.

"Where is he, and it's not a question!" He ordered. It was the first time the three of them had ever seen Hogan get angry at them.

Newkirk licked his dry lips, trying to think of the right words to say. There _were_ no right words, was the trouble. He finally took in a deep breath of air and looked at his Senior POW with empathy in his eyes.

"Schuerman's missing in action." He softly spoke.

The colonel's heart shattered hearing the sentence he had hoped he would never hear. His best friend, his second in command, he was somewhere in Germany trying to get back to London, being tortured by someone as bad as the Gestapo, or worse...he could not believe it. He did not _want_ to believe it.

"Rick's...he's...Rick's MIA?" Hogan trembled. His body began shaking a bit.

None of the men before him spoke. They simply stared at the colonel with sympathy.

Hogan shook his head, his mouth slightly opened. He was beginning to feel his eyes burn, and his vision blur, but fought against it.

"No...no... _no_ , it's not true!" He argued.

"We're sorry, Colonel," Kinch said sadly.

"We didn't want to tell you like this." LeBeau added.

"No, he's not! He's not, you're lying!" Hogan hissed.

"We wish we were, Sir," Newkirk said, his heart breaking seeing how much pain this was causing his new Senior POW...his new friend.

"He's not MIA! You're wrong!" He barked.

Hogan ran out of his room and remembering how Kinch had done it earlier, banged the fake bunk twice and climbed down the ladder into the tunnels quickly. He needed and wanted to be alone.

Rushing out of the colonel's room, Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk quickly followed from behind and made their way down below.

Hogan made his way to the radio room he had seen earlier, sat down on the stool behind the table, and sat there trying to collect himself. He would not cry. He would not believe it. Rick had to be in London. He _had_ to be. The idea of his best friend being MIA, to know that he may be out there in the wilderness hurt or worse, to know that he could not do a single thing in the world to try and find him...it made him feel ill. Physically, emotionally, and mentally ill. He then came to reality. This whole time, Newkirk, Kinch, and LeBeau had never told him a single lie. They had been there to welcome him and make him comfortable with Klink and the guards. They had made him warm and filling meals, played games with him, shared their days with one another and laughed together...why would they lie to him now? They wouldn't, was the answer. And Hogan knew what they said was true. Rick was MIA, and may never hear or see his best friend again.

Having all the feelings of sadness, grief, and heartache attack him all at once, Hogan broke down and began to cry. He saw his dear friend in his mind. His slick brown hair, his deep midnight blue eyes, his smile with pearly white teeth that was a killer with women, his boisterous and loud laugh. His best friend he went to for everything and celebrated each special moment in life with, the man he wanted as his best man at his wedding one day. Knowing that he may never hear his voice, talk to him, laugh with him, or see him again made Hogan want to die.

Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau got to the radio room and saw their colonel sobbing. Their hearts immediately ached seeing their friend so distressed. They made their ways closer to Hogan and surrounded him, ready to give comfort and support whenever he needed it.

The Englishman stood on Hogan's right and wrapped an arm around him. LeBeau was on the colonel's left, and rubbed Hogan's arm gently. Both of them said no words, but were there for him.

Kinch closed his eyes, let out a heavy breath, and shook his head.

"I wish I could do something for you, Colonel. If I knew where he was, I would tell you within a moment's notice," the sergeant said quietly.

"I'm sure Major Schuerman is a _très intellegent_ man. He will make it back to London without a single scratch," LeBeau said, with confidence.

"He wouldn't wanna see you so sad, Sir. He would want you to keep going." Newkirk added.

Hogan said nothing. He looked at each man while they spoke to him, then he shuddered and cried a little more.

The little Frenchman gave a look of helplessness and turned to the sergeant.

"What do we do, Kinch?"

"If I had an idea, I'd be on it already." He answered.

"There's gotta be some sort of search party we can send out looking for him. Someone we haven't thought of that could help." Newkirk suggested.

"I've already got every underground member known in Germany out and looking for him. They are to report to us immediately if they find someone matching his description."

"This whole bloody situation sucks."

" _Oui_...filthy bosche." LeBeau hissed.

"I say we kill 'em!"

"Kill _who_?" Kinch asked.

"The bloody bastards that shot the Gov'nor down that night." Newkirk answered.

"We don't even know who _who_ is. How do you suggest we find them and kill them? Especially when we have no weapons on us at the moment."

The Englishman fell silent for a moment.

"Well, I didn't say _how_ we'd kill 'em."

Kinch rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to Hogan.

The colonel had stopped crying for the most part, wiped his eyes, and hung his head with his eyes closed. He was tired, his heart hurt, his body felt numb to the core. He knew war was exhausting, but he never knew it could be _this_ exhausting. He had never felt such a tremendous loss in his life beside losing his grandma and grandpa as a teenager and young adult. What he was feeling was something he had never experienced before.

"Colonel, you alright?" Newkirk asked softly.

Hogan did not answer.

"Colonel...are you okay?" LeBeau asked, growing worried.

Hogan shook his head.

"No...I'm not," he said meekly.

"Sir, I promise I have every underground contact we know and their contacts looking north, south, east, and west for Major Schuerman. Someone's gotta find him or something about him." Kinch spoke.

"I appreciate it, but who knows how long it might be before you get an answer. I know people from World War I who had friends that went MIA. Some _still_ don't know where their loved ones are."

"That's not gonna happen with Major Schuerman, Sir. We'll have them keep searching until every hill and valley in Germany is searched," Newkirk said.

" _We_ will even search for him if necessary!" LeBeau volunteered proudly.

Hogan tried giving a small smile, but his body would not let him.

"Thanks, LeBeau...but there's no point...Rick's gone."

The colonel slowly got to his feet and trudged his way back to his quarters. It left Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau watching their grieving friend feeling helpless and guilt ridden, as if Rick's current status was their fault.

"That poor man," Kinch said, with sorrow.

"There's gotta be something we can do for him." Newkirk responded with.

"We must find out where Major Schuerman is!" LeBeau proposed.

"How do you suppose we do that? We don't even know where to look _first_."

"We know Colonel Hogan was shot down over Hammelburg. Why don't we start there?"

"He could be far from Hammelburg _now_. There are several possibilities of where he might be along with that," Kinch said.

"Out of Germany, captured by the Gestapo, in a POW camp, in hiding and traveling in another city...dead even." Newkirk spoke, struggling with the last thought.

"I sure hope he's not...poor Colonel Hogan would die knowing that's what happened to his best friend," LeBeau said softly.

"That's war, Louis."

"Well, it's not right!"

" _None_ of this is right. The Gestapo, innocent lives dying, what Hitler's trying to do, but all we can do is do everything in our power to make sure the Krauts lose this war so we can go home to our loved ones." Kinch answered.

"Major Schuerman _is_ one of those loved ones." The little Frenchman remarked.

"I _do_ wanna know where he is, though," Newkirk said. "What happened to him after jumping out of that plane?"

"Let's hope someone can find that out for us." Kinch replied.

"How long will _that_ be?"

The sergeant gave a heavy sigh and looked off in the direction he had seen the colonel gone off in.

"When I get that answer, I'll let you know."

Newkirk and LeBeau turned in the same direction Kinch was facing, and the three of them stared off in silence and empathy for Hogan, wanting to do something to help him, yet knowing there was nothing left for them to do.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

No one spoke of Rick after that night with Hogan. They did not want to make it harder on the colonel than it already was. It remained a topic between the three when they knew Hogan was in his quarters or in a meeting with Klink.

Kinch spent endless hours alternating shifts with Baker, waiting and praying for a message from an underground agent with more information on where the major currently was and, if lucky, know _how_ he was. With their spare time, the prisoners helped finish the tunnel towards the cooler and had an airdrop scheduled that would be filled with firearms and ammunition. Soon there operation would be ready to start its run, and Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau would soon have their first assignment from London.

Though progressing quickly and efficiently, the three still remained with the same problem that had been yet the one to solve: finding a commanding officer to lead them.

The three men gathered around at the table talking with one another about the issue. They could not proceed with plans until they found a commander. But _who_ was what troubled them. Kinch had called an important meeting regarding the drawback. He, Newkirk, and LeBeau were hoping by the time they had finished their meeting, they would know exactly who they would assign as a commanding officer or know what kind of person they would request London to send them. While this was happening, Hogan was barricaded in his room doing all sorts of paperwork for Klink.

"What do you guys think?" Kinch asked casually.

"He's gotta be funny. Someone who isn't a stick in the mud or stuck up." Newkirk answered.

"He's gotta have a sense of authority, that's for sure. Someone who can sweet talk himself out of any situation. Someone who can think quick on his feet, stay cool and collected under pressure, someone who is clever witted and cunning," the staff sergeant said.

"I don't understand why we can't ask Colonel Hogan. He would help us, I _know_ he would!" LeBeau grumbled, to himself.

The Englishman turned to the little man and glared at him.

"What part of 'he's busy with other stuff' did you not understand?" He remarked. "With Rick MIA, handling Klink, and getting settled into camp, he doesn't have _time_ to be our commanding officer. Now, I like him just as much as any of you like him. He's a nice guy and certainly not one of the brass I know back home, but it would be too much for him to do. He'd turn us down immediately."

"That just shows how much you know Colonel Hogan! He would help us if we just asked him!"

"You wanna cause the man to have a stroke and die from stress overload? Even military officers have their limits."

"Maybe this will be a good way for him to keep his mind off of Rick."

"Louis, why are you so set on Colonel Hogan? Why him and not someone else?" Kinch asked. He seemed curious, like he was considering the little Frenchman's suggestion. The sergeant liked Hogan as much as he did. By what he had seen and experienced so far in the colonel's company, he had to agree that Hogan was very charismatic and a very nice man. He knew how to do his job and did it by being encouraging, helpful, and there to pick up the pieces when his men felt as if they had failed him.

"What do you mean 'why am I so set on him'?" LeBeau remarked, sharp.

"What does he have you think that no other commanding officer has?"

"He is smart, _brilliant_ at that! He is respectful to everyone regardless their background, he's warm hearted and humane, he can wrap the guards and Kommandant Klink around his finger like it were as easy as breathing. Resourceful, has experience, shows bravery and strength...I would pick Colonel Hogan over any other military officer _any_ day!"

Kinch sat there and let it roll in his head for a long while. He had to agree with his short Frenchman; LeBeau made both logical and accurate points regarding Hogan. The man _was_ strong, reliable, courageous, friendly, intelligent, as great of a con artist as Newkirk was when it came to words, caring...it was everything they could want in a commanding officer and more. It was as if Hogan had been sent to them by fate. That he was the key to their success in their operation and winning the war against the Nazis. Why _shouldn't_ their commanding officer be him?

The sergeant nodded, agreeing with LeBeau's points. He had made his decision.

"Alright," he said. "I'm in."

LeBeau cheered for joy, leaving Newkirk the only one baffled.

"Kinch, you're serious, mate?! All this excitement could _kill_ him!" The Englishman exclaimed.

"Louis's right, Newkirk; Colonel Hogan has every quality we could ask for in a commanding officer. We all like him and respect him, and he's not some 'hot headed, egotistical bloke' as you put it. He cares for others' well beings and is basically a wizard when it comes to manipulating people, especially Klink."

"Well, it don't take a _rocket scientist_ to outsmart Klink. A bloody banana could outsmart that man."

They all had to laugh at that. The German colonel was more gullible than a four year old. A person could tell Klink just about anything, and he would never question it until it was too late, if not ever.

Once they had settled down, Kinch sighed and turned to look at both of his friends.

"Well...shall we do it, men?" He asked.

"Guess we have no other choice," Newkirk said.

"You will not regret it, Pierre. Not for a single _moment_!" LeBeau proclaimed confidently.

"You better be right, Louis, or I'm making you go outside and sleep with the dogs tonight."

The little Frenchman glared at him before turning back and followed Kinch to Hogan's door.

The three of them gathered around, and Kinch knocked on the door.

"Come in," a calm voice said.

The sergeant slowly opened the door and peeped his head inside quick. He found Hogan sitting at his desk reading through some sort of document and signing it every so often. The colonel seemed at ease and relaxed. Seeing he was in no hurry, Kinch opened the door further and stepped inside the room with Newkirk and LeBeau following his lead.

Hogan looked up from his work and gently put his pen down on the desk.

"Gentlemen, how can I help you?" He asked.

"Can we talk to you for a minute, Sir?" Newkirk questioned.

Hogan gave a crooked smile.

"You're already doing that." He teased.

The three enlisted men snickered and shook their heads. Somehow Hogan always knew how to throw a witty comment or a bit of humor into a conversation.

"What do you boys need?" The colonel asked, growing serious. Hogan got to his feet slowly, then turned to face the three of them and crossed his arms.

"We wanna ask you something," Kinch said coolly.

"Which is…"

The sergeant began feeling a little nervous, turned to LeBeau, and shoved him forward a bit.

"You ask him, Louis. You're time to shine."

The little French corporal chuckled shyly and turned to Newkirk.

"You ask him, Pierre," he said, making his way behind him.

"You blokes are real assertive, aren't yah." Newkirk commented, irritated. He turned to look at the colonel again and swallowed a little knot forming in his throat. Why was it so hard to ask him to be their commander? Was it the idea of him saying 'no' that worried them, or was it the idea of confronting a military officer with high authority for the first time in their military careers? The three of them could not quite put their finger on it, but knew it was one of the two.

"Well, Sir, it's like this. You see, we're kinda stuck on this issue we're dealing with. And with you still trying to get adjusted around here, Sir, we were all hesitant of asking, uh...we were wondering if...we wanted to know if you would consider...would you like to be...that is, would you mind...would you…" Newkirk was cut off by a growing grin and soft chuckle from the colonel himself.

"You want to know if I'll be your commanding officer for the operation you guys are setting up, don't you."

"It's like he read me bloody mind."

Hogan smirked, then sighed softly.

"You guys like me enough to offer such a position?" He asked, a bit surprised. He had not realized just how much these men had grown to like him and respect him so in such a short time frame.

"We wouldn't want it any other way, Sir," Kinch said, sincere.

"We think you're the best commanding officer that we've _ever_ come across!" LeBeau remarked boldly.

"I mean...you can say 'no' if it doesn't spark your attention, but uh…" Newkirk trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck.

The American officer pursed his lips and thought on it for a while. He began pacing his office, his arms wrapped around himself.

"It'll be extremely risky... _life threatening_ even." Hogan stated.

"Yes, Sir," Kinch said.

"We could possibly put our entire lives in jeopardy. If the Gestapo or a Kraut patrol caught us, we could get into some serious hot water."

"We trust you with our lives, Colonel," LeBeau said, proud.

Hogan stopped, then he turned his head back to his three friends.

"You guys serious about going through with this?" He asked, for consent.

"We're up for it if you are, Sir." Newkirk answered, for them.

The colonel flickered his eyes to each man before him, then he looked at them as a whole. These men were ready for a challenge; a chance to stop the enemy and help the Allied efforts win the war. He could see how they respected and honored him as a military officer and as a human being. They trusted him and his guidance to lead them in a risky, possibly fatal operation, each of them ready to fight for their countries and one another. They had the same kinship and determination his team in the 504th had, and it took all his strength to not start to choke up remembering them: their energy, their loyalty, their bravery, teamwork, and their kindness and friendship most of all. Knowing he had the opportunity to work with one of the greatest teams he was ever assigned to command, to have a second in command that was clever, loyal, and his best friend in the entire universe, it made him want to fight and continue on with the Allied efforts. He wanted to honor his men and everything they had ever done under his command and for himself as a person. He wanted to remember Rick, and his energy and strength to continue pushing forward even in hard times. These three men in front of him, each having a unique and special talent to bring to this new team and line of work, these new friends he had made that were willing to _die_ for him, they were some of the most incredible men he had ever met and was honored they wanted him to lead them on this new, exciting, and unknown adventure together.

Hogan's eyes glistened and had to give a small smile to fight back tears. He nodded gently.

"Alright," he said. "I'm in."

Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau cheered and gathered around their new commanding officer, celebrating and welcoming him to the team. It was official; once they had received their airdrop of ammunition and firearms, the operation could begin its run in Stalag 13.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:**

About four days went by, and after a successful retrieval mission for their weaponry, Hogan and his men were ready for London or the underground to give them their first assignment. It had been quiet and nothing new was reported in, so the group of four spent their days doing normal POW activities like playing sports, taking naps, writing letters home, or reading when not driving Klink, Schultz, or the guards up the wall as always.

LeBeau hovered over the stove making something good for dinner, Newkirk sat at the table playing a game of solitaire, and Hogan sat in his usual spot at the table with a warm cup of coffee and reading a good book.

The fake bunk suddenly went up, and Kinch emerged from underneath the ground. It brought all three men out of their trance and directed their attention to the sergeant.

"Guys, we've got our first assignment," Kinch said, holding a blue piece of paper with a grin.

"Really?!" LeBeau cried, filled with excitement. He hurried over to the group.

"Do we get to liquidate a bloody Gestapo Kraut?" Newkirk asked, with energy.

"It's from the underground, Colonel. They want us to get a downed flyer out of Germany and back to London as soon as we can." The sergeant answered.

Hogan nodded.

"Tell them message received and acknowledged. Have Otto go out and send him here," the colonel said, smiling. He had met the underground agent a couple nights back, and the two became fast friends. The army officer even discovered the man had been the one to find him in the forest the night he was shot down and got him to a hospital to Dr. Klaussner, another underground agent he discovered. Hogan would forever be grateful for both men. They had saved his life and made sure he got the proper care he needed. He could never repay them for what they had risked their lives to do for him.

"Yes, Sir."

"Hey, Kinch! What's this bloke look like?" Newkirk asked.

"Otto or the flyer?" The sergeant replied.

"The flyer, mate. What army is he from?" The Englishman remarked, with slight irritation

"Didn't have a description on him. RAF or the US Army Air Force I assume." Without another word, Kinch quickly went back down below to make his report back to the underground.

"Boy, our first assignment!" LeBeau cheered.

"I'm getting goosebumps just _thinking_ about it," Newkirk said, with a grin.

Hogan smirked.

"You guys ready for this?" He asked, taking a drink of coffee.

"Absolutely, Sir," Newkirk said.

"I was _born_ ready." LeBeau added.

The colonel nodded.

"Me too," Hogan said, smiling small.

The door to the barracks opened, and Baker hurried to the colonel and his men.

"Schultz is coming, Colonel." The young sergeant reported.

"Newkirk, close the tunnel entrance." Hogan ordered.

"Right, Gov," he said, and the English corporal got to his feet quickly. He made his way towards the fake bunk and as it was closing, the heavy guard made his entrance inside. He saw the motion, and his mouth nearly fell off his face. His eyes were wide, terrified to know what he just saw happen.

"Wha, wha...what, was, that?" Schultz asked, terrified.

"What was what, Schultz?" Hogan answered.

"I saw...I saw...I saw,"

"Nothing," LeBeau cut the heavy guard off. "You saw nothing at all."

" _Nothing_? But that looked like _something_ to me!"

"I didn't see anything." Newkirk spoke softly.

"That cold air's probably doing your brain no good there, Schultz," Hogan said.

"I saw _nothing_?...Are you sure?" The big guard asked, frightful.

"You saw nothing, you heard nothing, and yah don't _know_ anything," the English corporal said.

Schultz closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I know nothing. I see nooothing!" He cried, and left the barracks without another word.

Satisfied that the coast was clear, the three men let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"That was close," Hogan said, taking another drink of his coffee.

"You bet your buttons that was." Newkirk answered.

"Just hope Schultzie doesn't get the courage to come back in here again," LeBeau said quietly.

The colonel grinned.

"Don't worry, LeBeau. I don't think Schultz will be bothering us anytime soon."

The bunk opened back up, and Kinch made his entrance into the barracks. Closing the secret passageway, the tall sergeant made it towards his three friends and began making conversation.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Only Schultzie almost catching our little 'project'." Newkirk remarked.

"You're kidding!"

"It's alright, Kinch. Colonel Hogan and Newkirk tripped him off his feet. He said 'he saw nothing and did not know anything." LeBeau answered.

"I've got a good feeling this won't be the last time he says _that_ ," the sergeant said.

"Boys, it's going to get hectic from this point onward." Hogan answered. He turned to face his new second in command. "What did the underground have to say, Kinch?"

"Otto will be by with the flyer tomorrow night at 2100 hours."

"Good. We'll keep him down in the tunnels until London can get a plane out here to get him."

"You know what this guy looks like, mate?" Newkirk asked.

"No description. Just that an Allied flyer was shot down and needs to get back to London ASAP. Sounds like he's a pretty important person to our side." The staff sergeant answered.

"Sure sounds like it. An officer?" Hogan questioned.

"I assume so by what I've heard so far."

"I wonder who he is," LeBeau said, with curiosity.

"We'll find out soon enough, Louis." Kinch answered.

"Yah think we can pull this off, mate? This whole operation business and stuff?" Newkirk asked, uncertain.

Hogan smiled at the three of his men.

"The four of us can do anything we set our minds to. We just need to be prepared and think of every possible scenario we might come across. As long as we're one step ahead of the Krauts, we're invincible," the colonel said.

"You think so, Colonel?" LeBeau questioned.

"I _know_ so."

"We won't let yah down, sir," Newkirk said, firm.

"We'll do all it takes." Kinch added.

"I know you guys will." Hogan answered.

The four of them sat down at the table, Newkirk grabbed out a deck of cards, and they started playing a game of gin.

* * *

Tomorrow night came sooner than any of Hogan's team had expected it to. Newkirk and LeBeau were sent out in black clothing and black soot smeared on their cheeks for their very first assignment. Kinch and Hogan stayed behind in camp and waited for their two friends in the radio room.

Kinch sat on his stool in front of the radio table flipping through a magazine and looked up every once and awhile at his pacing commanding officer. He was beginning to worry that if Hogan did any more pacing back and forth, he would put a hole in the ground. By the seventh time he looked up at the colonel in that past hour, the sergeant put down his magazine and did not part his eyes from the sight of Hogan.

"Sir, if you keep that up, you're gonna make yourself sick...or after causing a rut," Kinch said, concerned.

"I'm just worried. This is our first assignment, and London's counting on us to get this downed officer back to them safely. What if something went wrong? What if the Gestapo…" Hogan could not finish that thought. The idea of his two friends in the hands of those men, if they _were_ men, was more than mortifying. It made the colonel want to scream out in agony and pure fear. It made him remember the night his plane was shot down, and his team being disassembled. A group of men that were his friends, one of the greatest teams he had ever been honored to command, nine men that depended on him for survival, and the one time it truly mattered, he had not been able to save them from turmoil. It made his stomach ill and mind shudder in horror.

Remembering that night made his recovering wounds ache a bit. Hogan rubbed his left wrist very gently, then rubbed his belly just as gentle. He let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

Kinch could read the man's mind and looked at him with sympathy.

"There was nothing you could have done to stop that plane going down, Colonel. You didn't fail them. Six of them made it to London. The other three are gonna make it, too," he said softly.

"How, Kinch?" Hogan quivered. "One's locked up in a prisoner of war camp somewhere in Northern Germany, and the other two…" He clenched his eyes shut and shuddered. Rick. He could not get him out of his head. He needed to know where he was. He needed to know how he was. Was he safe? Hurt? Did he not make it? He needed _something_! Not knowing what became of his best friend was driving him mad.

"He'll be alright, Sir," the sergeant said, understanding who he was worried over. "Major Schuerman sounds like he's a very smart man. He'll make it, Colonel."

The colonel turned to look at Kinch, and let out a shaky breath. He was about to speak, when he heard two voices talking to one another: Newkirk and LeBeau were back.

The two corporals made their entrance into the radio room and were laughing and talking about something with one another. Both men were back in their Allied uniforms, and turned to face Kinch and Hogan.

"Colonel, you're gonna _love_ this guy! Boy, does he have a sense of humor!" Newkirk cried.

" _Oui_! He could make _anybody_ laugh!" LeBeau agreed.

"Where is he?" Hogan asked, crossing his arms. He raised his eyebrow, suspicious of the two. He saw no one with them.

The two corporals stepped aside, and a shadowy figure made its way into the radio room. When they appeared from the shadows, Hogan paled, as if he had just seen a ghost.

A man in a USA Army Air Corps officer's uniform with thick, wavy brown hair, a bit of a scruffy chin, and sparkling dark blue eyes stood there before him. It was no other than his second in command of the 504th. His best friend: Rick.

Hogan's eyes were welling with water, his lips trembling. Was it real, he thought. Was it actually him? His whole entire body felt as if it had locked down.

The major's jaw dropped from its hinges, not able to believe his sight. His best friend, his past commanding officer was standing there right in front of him. He thought he would never see the man again in his life, yet there he was. A man that looked well fed, healthy as could be, and well taken care of. Had it not been for the healing scars on Hogan's wrist, it was as if the plane crash, nor the accident, had ever occurred.

Rick had trouble getting his vocal chords to work, but eventually was able to say one word.

"Rob," he barely spoke.

"Rick...is it you?" Hogan trembled.

Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk looked from one man to the other, remaining silent through the entire exchange. They were absolutely stunned at what they were witnessing. Out of all military officers, the three enlisted men had never expected to return home with Hogan's best friend. The man that the colonel had been dreading nights and days over, terrified of wondering what had happened to him, where he was, the man he was the most concerned for was right there in front of their eyes.

The major had tears stream down his face, and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. It was Hogan alright.

"Rob!" He cried.

"Rick!" Hogan wailed.

Both men ran towards one another and embraced each other. Both men now had tears rolling down their cheeks, relieved and blessed to be together again. Both men thought that the night their plane went down would be the last time they ever saw one another. Now, there underneath the POW camp of Stalag 13, they were reunited again.

LeBeau's eyes watered, and he grabbed a kleenex to wipe his cheeks with.

Newkirk looked over and rolled his eyes.

"Louis, I swear you're more emotional than me Aunt Doris." He grumbled.

"Well, all be. Who would have thought of it," Kinch said, grinning from ear to ear.

Once collected, Hogan and Rick released one another.

"I thought I'd never see you again," the colonel said, his eyes glistening in the small light from the oil lamps.

"My God, it's a miracle. By how hurt you were that night, I thought you wouldn't make it out alive." Rick answered.

"Luckily I was taken in under good hands."

"How do you look so well for being a prisoner of war? Doesn't your kommandant starve you men?"

Newkirk laughed loudly at that remark.

"Who, Klink? That man hasn't have a mean bone in his body!"

Rick turned to Kinch, not able to believe what he was hearing.

"Major, _no Kommandant_ in all of Germany compares to Kommandant Klink," he said, smiling.

Rick turned back to look at Hogan.

"Is he serious?" He asked.

The colonel chuckled softly.

"Surprisingly, yes."

"Holy...this is all unbelievable. The fact you guys have started an underground operation right beneath your Luft Stalag without any guard or your kommandant's knowledge regarding it...the fact you have a radio that can actually contact anyone within the underground or London...how did you manage to do it, Rob?"

"To be honest, these three remarkable gentlemen did most of the work. I only came during the last little bit of the work in progress."

Rick turned to look at the three men, stunned that just three enlisted men had managed to accomplish what they had done.

"How did it start?" He gasped.

Hogan smirked.

"It's a long story I'll tell you in the morning."

"I wanna see this Kommandant Klink you speak of. A German so weak, he's terrified of his own shadow I can hardly imagine."

"It's real alright, Rick, but it's too dangerous to let you come up above. I have over a thousand men that need my protection, my team most of all...these three are my friends."

The major gave a small smile. He turned to face the three standing beside him.

"You three are very lucky to have Rob for a commanding officer. He's the best one in the business," he said, sincere.

"He sure is." Kinch agreed.

"We'll take good care of him, mate." Newkirk answered.

"I will protect Colonel Hogan if it means my life," LeBeau said passionately.

Hogan cocked his head slightly and smiled, blushing a little. He liked the three men more and more as each day went by. He had known them for barely over a month now, and he already thought they were the greatest men in his command and even more wonderful friends. He would protect them even if it meant losing his own life to do so. After everything they had done for him in his first few weeks at Stalag 13, he owed them that much.

"I appreciate that, thank you. It means a lot to me," Hogan said, trying to remain humble. He had never been fond of the military officers who tried so hard to put themselves on a pedestal and promote their authority to others below him. He wanted to earn his respect from the men under his command, not demand it.

"Well," Newkirk said. He turned down to look at his watch. "It's almost 3:30. Roll call's in another three hours."

"We should get headed for bed. Get at least two hours of sleep at the most." The colonel answered. Hogan turned to Rick. "You gonna be alright down here for the night?"

The major merely laughed.

"I've slept in far worse places than this, Rob," Rick said.

Hogan laughed softly.

"Probably right on that one, Rick," he said, with a grin.

The two American officers hugged again, then Hogan and his men left the tunnels for the night. Once they had left, Rick walked over to the empty cot alongside the wall, covered up with the blankets provided, and soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14:**

" _Herr Kommandant_ , all prisoners present and accounted for!" Schultz reported, with a goofy smile.

"Excellent, Schultz. Dismiss the men of barracks two!" Klink replied.

" _Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_!"

Klink saluted his heavy sergeant of the guard, then he snapped on his heels and made his way back to his office.

Once dismissed, Hogan and his men entered back into the barracks. While LeBeau made breakfast, the colonel, Newkirk, and Kinch sat down at the table with their cups of coffee and began conversing with one another regarding their first assignment.

"You got an idea on how we're gonna get Schuerman out of here to London?" Newkirk asked.

"Not yet. I'm still trying to think of something. We've got to be clever and one step ahead of the Krauts, yet not make it too complex and difficult. I just can't think of an idea, though." Hogan answered, tossing and turning ideas through his brain. None of the ones he had thought of so far made sense or were too illogical to accomplish. Leading this team to success would be harder than it looked. He was ready for the challenge, but it was a whole new ball game to get used to.

"What if we disguised him as a Gestapo officer and snuck him out through the emergency tunnel?"

"No, Rick doesn't know enough German to do so. It would be a good idea, otherwise. If a Kraut pulled him aside, they would be able to detect he was a fake immediately." Hogan took another drink of his coffee.

"We could have Otto send someone from the underground as a Gestapo officer and have him escort Rick to the designated airfield we established with London." Kinch suggested.

The colonel let out a breath of air and nodded slightly.

"We're getting somewhere...there's no easy way to do this without getting caught."

"Blimey...I didn't think this business of ours would be such a sticky wicket," Newkirk said.

"A sticky wicket?" Hogan asked, confused.

"You know, Gov'nor. Like that saying you Americans say. Uh...tight situation or stuck in a rut."

The American officer nodded, it now clicking in his mind.

"What can we do, then?" LeBeau asked, cracking an egg into a mixing bowl.

"I'd like to give you that answer, LeBeau. I'm afraid to say I don't have a clue at the moment." Hogan answered.

There was a brief moment of silence, until a light bulb went off in Newkirk's head, and he snapped his fingers. He had the _perfect_ idea!

"Hey! I got it! Klink's going out tomorrow night to Hammelburg for a date. What if we snuck Rick into the trunk of his staff car and once they got into the city and parked, an underground agent came for him disguised as a Luftwaffe officer and took him from there to the secret airfield?"

Hogan's face seemed to light up and grew a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He gave a devious grin and turned to the Englishman.

"Newkirk, you're a genius," he said, sly.

The English corporal scoffed.

"Well...I wouldn't go _that_ far, Sir," he said, blushing.

Hogan smiled and took another drink of coffee.

"What time does Klink leave for town tomorrow night?" The colonel asked.

"Right after evening roll call."

"Alright. We'll have Rick ready to go by then. As soon as Klink has us dismissed and the coast is clear, Newkirk, I want you and LeBeau to bring Rick through disguised as a POW and get him into the trunk of Klink's car as quickly as possible. We'll have to be quick if we're going to be successful in this assignment."

"What are you going to do, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"I'll be distracting the guard that's guarding Klink's car. Who is it?" Hogan asked.

Kinch laughed.

"Schultz," he said, grinning.

Hogan returned the same smile.

"My job just got a whole lot easier," he said, with mischief. His face soon turned to an expression of confusion and turned to Newkirk again. "Wait a minute...how did you know Klink's going out tomorrow night?"

"You know that coffee maker in your office you never use?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan nodded.

"Yes," he said.

"It ain't a real coffee maker. It's a listening device connected to Klink's office. Whenever someone visits or we suspect something's going on, we use it to listen in on our beloved Kommandant to plan ahead."

The colonel shook his head, amazed with these men. They had this operation idea planned inside and out. They thought of just about every situation possible, and they had prepared and executed this plan to the tiniest detail. He was impressed, proud, _honored_ to be commanding a small unit made up of the three smartest men, besides Rick and Berkman, he had ever met.

"You guys have this whole idea worked out, don't you," Hogan said, blown away.

"You better believe it, Colonel. We're determined to win this war." Kinch answered.

"And if you guys keep this good work up, we'll take Hitler and his Krauts up in flames."

"Wouldn't that be a beautiful sight to see," LeBeau said, grinning.

That got all four of them rounded up in laughter. Hogan had to grab his middle gently eventually, all the laughing making his abdominal scars ache.

Once they had all settled down, Hogan and his men ate their breakfast and continued discussing their plan on getting Rick out of Germany.

* * *

The big night soon arrived, and Hogan's men were both excited and anxious. This was the 'make it or break it' for their operation, and this assignment had to be a success in order for them to continue out with it. London would shut them down otherwise, and they had spent too many months now to be shut down.

Schultz had pulled up the car in front of Klink's office, and Newkirk was keeping watch at the barracks door. Once the car had come to a complete stop and Schultz had got out, the English corporal closed the door and made his way over to Hogan. The colonel was standing next to Rick, who was dressed as an ordinary POW. Kinch was down in the tunnels monitoring the radio, and LeBeau was handing Rick the papers he needed to show the man Otto was sending to meet him in Hammelburg.

"Schultzie got out of the car, Gov'nor. He just went in to get Klink." Newkirk reported.

"Alright, you and LeBeau get ready. You two know what to do," Hogan said.

"Right, Sir."

" _Oui, Colonel_ ," LeBeau said.

The two corporals gathered near the door, and Hogan turned to his best friend with a sad smile. The two would soon be separated again.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay, Rob? I can go out in the woods dressed like this and be captured by guards nearby here." Rick suggested sincerely.

Hogan shook his head, though appreciated the thought. He could not have asked for a better best friend.

"I would _love_ to have you stay here and help out, but London needs you more right now. There's six men there waiting for you to come back to them. They need you since I now can't be there."

The major seemed to tense at that.

"God, Rob...I've never been a commanding officer before. I've always been second in command, your assistant. Now _I'm_ the one giving the orders and the military plans."

"You're gonna be the greatest commanding officer ever made. I've taught you all I can. The rest is up to you."

"Do you know which six made it back? What happened to the other two?"

"I don't know who any of them are, but one is in a POW camp in Northern Germany and the other one is MIA. I don't know anything other than that. I hope you can tell me who made it back once you get to London."

Rick gave a small grin.

"I'll let you know the minute I set foot on ground, Rob."

Hogan smiled back.

"I know you will," he said.

"I'll see you after the war?"

"You better believe it. We'll have to celebrate with a couple drinks when we get home to Cleveland."

"Got that right, man!"

Hogan and Rick gave each other a hug, then the major headed over towards Newkirk and LeBeau. He looked back at the colonel once more.

"Goodbye, Rob. Take care," he said friendly.

"You too, Rick."

After checking to make sure the coast was clear, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Rick snuck out of the barracks into the night and closed the door behind them.

Once they had disappeared into the night, Hogan closed his eyes and hung his head. He was separated from his best friend once again, and this time, it was definite that they would not see each other again for God knew how long. He would be at ease knowing Rick would soon be back safe and sound in London leading his old bombing squadron to victory, but the colonel would long for the rest of the war to see him again. To go home to Ohio and go out with him on Friday nights, ask him to be his best man at his wedding after proposing to Maggie. He missed the days before the war began, before Hitler took reign of Germany and started another world war. He wanted to go back to those days, he wanted to go home and see his parents, hold Maggie in his arms tight and kiss her, have a guys' night out with Rick and several of his other friends at a bar and laugh about stories they exchanged with one another. Would he ever get to do those things again? Would he survive through this war and get to go home again? No one had the answer to his questions besides God, and it made him feel like screaming out in agony and fear.

His emotions starting to take a hold of him, Hogan sat down at the table and buried his face into his hands. He gave heavy, shaking breaths in and out trying to calm himself, but it did very little.

Kinch emerged from the ground, closed the fake bunk, then spotted his new commanding officer looking like he was in distress. The sergeant made his way over and looked at Hogan with genuine concern.

"Are you alright, Colonel?" He asked softly.

Hogan struggled to speak. He was fighting with all his strength to fight back his emotions. He had to show his men he was strong and tough to get to. A military officer was invincible, tough skinned, wore a shield of armor. He would not give the impression he was weak. Men did not break down in front of others, _especially_ military men.

"I'll be alright," he said, shaky, finding enough strength to finally speak.

Kinch sat down next to the colonel and immediately knew what was bugging him.

"You're gonna miss him, aren't you."

Hogan did not answer. He was hoping if he did not respond, the man would go away and leave him alone. He would not pour his heart out to another person. He tried to distract himself with other thoughts, but his worries always found their way back to him.

"Rick's gonna be alright, sir. He'll be in London before you know it," Kinch said, trying to find words that would comfort his new friend and commander.

No response. The sergeant began growing worried and tried again.

"Are you alright, Sir? There's more going on than just Rick that's bothering you."

"Kinch, I'd really like to be alone right now," Hogan said softly.

"Come on, Colonel. I wanna make you feel better. I don't like seeing you like this."

"There's nothing you _can_ do, Kinch... _no one_ can help me feel better about what I'm currently going through."

"Fear? Anxiety? Sadness? Like you may not wake up tomorrow and see anyone you care for again?"

Hogan lifted his face from his hands and looked at the man stunned. _How in the world did he read my mind like that_ , he wondered.

"How did you…" Kinch cut the colonel off.

"I felt the exact same way when I first arrived, Colonel. I wanted to do nothing more than to get out of this place and go home. I wanted to see my parents and my older brother, my house, go back to work as a mechanic in Detroit, my friends, I wanted it all back...I _still_ do, Sir."

"What stopped you, if I may ask."

"I met and became good friends with Newkirk and LeBeau. They told me what they wanted to do, and I wanted a part in it the minute they asked me to help them. The three of us have been perfecting our little operation ever since. We're determined to stop these Krauts regardless of the risks we'll be making, but knowing we're helping our countries stop Hitler in his tracks is uplifting. It's what gets us through some of our worse days besides one another. We stick together and help one another no matter what."

Hogan gave a small smile. The loyalty his three men had to one another, the friendship they shared with each other made him feel warm inside. He had never met more remarkable men in his entire military career. He hoped one day that he would have the same thing with these three men that had already became his friends.

"How is it you three have yet not cease to amaze me?" He asked softly.

Kinch laughed.

"You're in for a wild ride, Sir. After about another month, we're _bound_ to drive you nuts," he said.

Hogan smirked. He then turned to the sergeant and smiled warmly.

"Thanks, Kinch...I needed that," he said.

"No problem, Colonel. What are friends for?"

The two exchanged smiles, then they began conversing with one another about what was in store for them if tonight worked in their favor.

* * *

Newkirk, LeBeau, and Rick silently made their way outside of the barracks and into the compound. They were quick to dodge the spotlight in the guard tower circling the entire camp.

The three made it to Klink's staff car and hid behind the back next to the trunk. After checking for any wandering guards, Newkirk turned to his partner in crime and the major.

"Alright, Louis. You know what to do," he said.

" _Oui, Pierre_. I get _Monsieur Rick_ into Klink's trunk and come to get you inside after I have finished."

"Right." Newkirk turned to look at the major. "You ready to go home, mate?"

Rick sighed sadly.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he said.

The English corporal gave a friendly smile.

"Don't worry, Major. We'll take good care of him for yah."

Rick gave a small smile in return.

"I know you will. You men are alright. Good luck with your little…" The major paused, looked around for any guards standing by. Finding none, he turned back to the two corporals. "'Business' you guys have in mind."

"Go end this war, mate," Newkirk said, with a grin.

"I'll do what I can, Corporal," Rick said.

Newkirk turned to his little Frenchman and nodded.

"Good luck," he said quietly.

" _Merci_. You, too." LeBeau answered back.

The Englishman nodded and silently made his way inside the Kommandantur. Newkirk entered into Klink's secretary's office, Fraulein Helga, and saw no one around. He swiftly made his way across the room towards the door to Klink's office and opened it. He found Schultz talking to the German colonel, who was buttoning up his jacket, excited for his night out in town.

Seeing the door open, both Germans snapped their heads towards the POW.

"Corporal Newkirk," Klink bellowed, shaking his fist in the air. "What are you doing out of the barracks at this hour?!"

"Sorry, Kommandant. I had to ask yah a question, though."

"Save it for tomorrow! Now get out and back to your barracks!"

"But this can't wait, Sir. You're the smartest German I know, so I had to ask you before yah left for your evening out of camp."

Klink seemed to brighten up like a child on Christmas morning.

"You...you think I'm the smartest German you know?" He asked, bashful.

Schultz rolled his eyes, trying not to let his commanding officer see.

"Oh, brother." The big guard murmured.

The German colonel turned to the man and glared at him with icy blue eyes.

"Shut up, Schultz!" Klink ordered. He turned back to Newkirk grinning. "What can I do for you, Corporal?"

"Well, Kommandant, Corporal LeBeau and I are having a disagreement regarding something recently, and I knew you're smarter than anybody in this entire camp. I was hoping you would be able to settle and confirm who's right and who's wrong." The Englishman began.

"Which would be what?" Klink asked, now interested in what his prisoner had to say.

As Newkirk was about to speak, the door to Klink's office opened again, and LeBeau made his way inside. He seemed to look irritated and ornery.

"What part of 'don't walk away from me' do you not understand?" LeBeau spat, at his British companion.

"Since neither of us can come to an agreement, I thought I would ask Kommandant Klink to settle this for us!" Newkirk snarled.

"Why would a _Kraut_ help us?"

"It _involves_ them, does it not?!"

"What does? Speak now, and that's an order!" Klink demanded.

"Well, we're trying to determine who the stupidest guard here is, and we can't settle between whether Sergeant Werner or Private Mueller is. What do you think, Kommandant?" Newkirk asked.

The old German colonel glared at both men, irritated and frazzled that his two prisoners were bothering him with such a preposterous question.

"Corporal Newkirk! I refuse to speak ill of one of my guards in such a manner!" Klink finished putting on his jacket and started headed for his office door. As he was about to leave, he turned back around and looked at the two corporals. "It's Sergeant Werner. I've _never_ liked that man." Without another word, the Kommandant left with Schultz waddling behind him.

Leaving LeBeau and Newkirk to themselves, they turned around to face one another.

The Englishman looked around to see if anyone was listening in on them. Seeing the coast was clear, Newkirk turned to face his little friend again.

"Did yah get Rick inside the trunk alright?" He whispered.

" _Oui_. Not a single thing went wrong," LeBeau said, confident.

"Alright, let's get back to the Gov'nor and let 'im know."

The two corporals made their way quickly back to the barracks and made their report to Hogan.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Yes, all my fellow Carter fans can quit worrying now. I'm bringing in our favorite young sergeant this chapter! Hope you guys enjoy! Reviews highly encouraged! :D

* * *

 **Chapter 15:**

It was very early in the morning, about 1AM, when Kinch got a radio message from London. He had been waiting for a response from them for almost four days now, and Hogan was growing worried ill about whether Rick had made it safely there or not.

The sergeant wrote down quickly London's message, turned the radio off, and made his way back for the barracks.

He climbed up the ladder, closed the entrance, and made his way to the table where Newkirk and LeBeau were playing a game of gin, and Hogan was drinking a cup of coffee and trying to fight back his anxiety over their current situation.

The colonel looked up from his coffee, and his facial expression changed from passive to anxious like the flick of a light switch.

"Did you hear anything, Kinch?" He asked, worried.

The sergeant gave a bold smile.

"Rick's safe and sound, and our operation has their approval to continue," he said.

LeBeau and Newkirk cheered softly.

"We did it!" The little Frenchman spoke triumphantly.

"We're in business, mate!" Newkirk cried.

Hogan sighed with relief and finally was at ease. He gave a smile of tranquility and pride. He was proud of his friends and new unit. He was filled with joy knowing Rick was back in London with six other men from his old bombing squad. They would make up a new squadron and do the Allies proud in winning the war.

'Good job, guys. I'm proud of you," the colonel said, sincere.

"We're proud of you, too, Sir," Newkirk said.

"Oh, and Colonel. Have a personal message for you." Kinch called.

Hogan turned his attention back to the radioman.

"What is it?" He asked, suspicious.

Kinch grinned from ear to ear.

"A General Berkman says he's glad you are safe, recovering, and is excited for you to take on your new assignment here at Stalag 13. And Rick says six men by the names of Wiley, McAvoy, Anderson, Ellis, Gibson, and Brooks are safe and sound with him."

Hogan's face lit up at the hearing of the old general's name. How he had missed the man terribly. His commanding officer was relieved from stress and worry and congratulated him on his new assignment as commander of this operation that all started with the three men before them. And to top it off, he finally knew which men had made it home to London and would be joining his best friend in a new squadron as a team of seven.

"General Berkman?... _My_ General Berkman? My commanding officer back in London?" He gasped.

"That's what he said. He says if we ever need anything to call him, and he'll do everything he can to fulfill our request." Kinch answered.

The colonel shook his head while grinning, then he returned his attention to his men.

"Now I _know_ we're in good hands. If General Berkman is handling this operation, the Krauts don't stand a _chance_ with us around," he said, strong.

"Well...with us now in business, we should think of a code name for you, Gov'nor. To protect your identity if any Gestapo Krauts try to hack into our signal and listen in on us." Newkirk suggested.

"Good idea, Newkirk." Kinch answered.

Hogan chuckled and started thinking.

"A code name, huh? Wonder what it should be." He wondered.

"It has to be something tough. Something completely unrelated to us. Something that should send a shiver down these bloody bastards' spines," the Englishman said, his mind turning.

"What if we called him the Iron Fist?" LeBeau asked, thinking it was brilliant.

Hogan pursed his lips, not exactly fond of it.

"It sounds a bit _too_ intimidating. It might be enough to scare even agents from the underground we have yet to meet," he said gently.

The little Frenchman nodded, understanding where his commander was coming from.

" _Oui_. You're right, Colonel," LeBeau said.

Newkirk snapped his fingers, a light bulb going off in his head.

"I got it! The Red Herring!"

Hogan shook his head, still not hooked. He wrapped his arms around himself and put his left leg up on the bench near the stove.

"Still not feeling it, Newkirk," he said softly.

"Snow White?" LeBeau randomly threw out.

"Alright, now _that's_ just uncanny." Newkirk grumbled, with irritation.

The little Frenchman glared back at the English corporal.

"What if we called him Grizzly Bear?" Kinch asked.

"Or Panda Bear?" LeBeau remarked.

"Grizzly bears are a little more ferocious, don't you think?"

"Polar Bear?"

"I'm still feeling Grizzly Bear."

"Oh, for crimey's sake, yah might as well call 'im Papa Bear at _this_ rate!" Newkirk hissed.

At that point, Hogan had paused in his pacing, his interest now sparked, and turned to face the Englishman.

"What did you say, Newkirk?" He asked, curious.

"I said they'd outta call yah Papa Bear at this rate." He answered, unsure whether his comment had angered the man or not.

Hogan resumed pacing for a little longer, then a grin of mischief came across his face. He lit up like the sunshine in the sky.

"I like it," he said.

"You _do_?" Newkirk cried, shocked his sarcasm sounded brilliant to the colonel.

"It's not too rough, not too soft, mysterious, yet not complicated...it's _genius_!"

"Papa Bear's espionage and sabotage service," Kinch said, smiling.

"I like it, Colonel!" LeBeau answered, sincere.

"Well, if you like it, Gov, then so do I," Newkirk said.

Hogan turned to them, leaned forward, and put his hands on the table, looking at each of them with a sparkle of deviousness in his eyes, and smiled.

"Gentlemen, prepare for the ride of your life," he said softly.

* * *

A few months had gone by since the operation opened up for business in Stalag 13. In that amount of time, Hogan and his men had familiarized themselves with every underground member known of and met quite a few of them. The colonel had got the chance to meet Klaussner once again in that time frame and not only thanked him for saving his life, but got to know one another better. Their friendship quickly strengthened, and the old man became one of Hogan's most trusted Allies and close friends. Otto was another underground member that Hogan had grown to trust greatly and became another close friend of his.

As for his friendships with Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau, the four were inseparable. By after a month and a half, they were all each other's best friend and vowed their lives to one another. Hogan was like the father, Kinch was the next parental figure, and Newkirk and LeBeau were the kids. All four of them were closely knitted and was the best team each of them ever worked with. They all got along, respected one another, and genuinely cared for one another.

The camp and daily life as a POW became the norm for the colonel, and his relationship with Klink became a friend/enemy one. He manipulated the cowering bald man, Schultz, and the rest of the guards in camp like singing and playing his drums. It was a cinch. While easily messing with the kommandant, sometimes his relationship with him felt more like a friendship, and it felt a bit weird yet comforting, knowing his captor would not harm a single hair on him nor any of his men. The two colonels sometimes played games of chess with one another, had a drink or two, and talked to one another casually. Most of the time, it was to accomplish an assignment from London or the underground, but other times it just happened. Hogan was not exactly sure whether he would call Klink an enemy to him or a friend and wondered if he would ever know where to categorize the man as. He was sure that Sergeant Schultz was a friend more so than an enemy, however. The big guard had no backbone in his entire body and never wished to be involved with what he called Hogan and his men's 'monkey business'.

It was a nice, warm day out in the middle of July, and most, if not all, of the prisoners were outside and enjoying the sunshine and pleasant weather. They played sports, went for runs or walks around camp, or socialized with one another.

In the compound in front of barracks two, LeBeau and Kinch were throwing a football back and forth from one another, Newkirk leaned against the side of the building next to the bench outside smoking a cigarette, and Hogan stood beside the Englishman leaning against the building himself. He smiled watching LeBeau and Kinch, supervised the other prisoners once and a while, and talked casually with Newkirk every now and again.

It was just another average day in Stalag 13, when a staff car pulled into camp alongside the Kommandantur's with Gestapo flags flapping in the gentle breeze. A driver hopped out and made his way around the vehicle to let out the occupants.

Both LeBeau and Kinch stopped their game and turned their attention to the car and the Gestapo men that made their way out quietly. The little Frenchman turned to the sergeant and looked at him slightly confused.

"Kinch, what is that?" He asked, curious.

"I was just gonna ask you the same question, Louis," the radioman answered.

"Why would the Gestapo be visiting?"

"Maybe Colonel Hogan will know why."

"Good idea."

The two men abandoned their spots in the compound and made their ways to the English corporal and American officer, who were watching what was happening as well.

"You got any idea on what this is about, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"Newkirk and I were just discussing that. What do the Gestapo want with Stalag 13?" Hogan asked, wrapping his arms around himself. He pursed his lips and began thinking to himself, trying to find a reasonable explanation.

Newkirk turned his attention from Hogan back to what was going on in front of him, when his eyes laid sight on something interesting. The two Gestapo officers yanked someone out of the car, an American flyer. From what the British man could see, he had a beaten up leather jacket on, a light brown jumpsuit on underneath, and a wool cap on his head. The flyer looked like he was just a kid. He could not be over 22. He was at _least_ 21 at the oldest. The poor soldier looked horrified and gravely worried being in front of the two German officers. Newkirk could not help but feel sorry for the young boy. He wanted to do something to help him, but did not know how.

"Hey, Gov. Look at that," he said softly, with a gentle nod of his head.

Hogan turned back to what was in front of him, and he too, now became interested in what was happening. He saw the same boy Newkirk had and the same thoughts about the soldier.

"What's a kid doing in the middle of Germany?" Kinch asked, stunned.

"Forget Germany. What's he doing in this entire _war_?" LeBeau retorted.

"I don't know," Hogan said. "Newkirk, Kinch, LeBeau, you three go inside into my office and turn on the coffee pot. Listen in on what Klink and the Gestapo say to one another. I'm gonna go see what this is all about."

The colonel left the three men to themselves, who were watching their commander make his way into the kommandant's office.

"I wonder who that bloke is," Newkirk said, to himself.

"And why is he here?" LeBeau asked.

"Only one way to find out." Kinch answered. "Come on, guys."

The two corporals followed the sergeant inside the barracks to Hogan's room and plugged in the fake coffee pot. They gathered around Hogan's desk and began taking note of what would be exchanged.

* * *

"Gentlemen, how can I help you today?" Klink asked, wearing his usual goofy smile.

"Colonel Klink, I am Major Schtaffel from Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin. This is my second in command, Captain Luftwig. We were assigned to bring this young man to your prison camp to be detained as a POW for the duration of the war." The major informed.

The kommandant looked at the man sitting before him. He was very young. A college graduate at the oldest. He wore a face full of fear and innocence. He lifted his eyes to Klink once and awhile, but then quickly looked back down and twiddled his thumbs, praying that it would bring the unwanted attention off of him. He was as helpless as a baby deer in the woods without its mother.

"Seems harmless enough," Klink said, done with his visual analysis of the American.

"It's all an act, Kommandant. The minute we soften, he makes an attempt to escape."

Luftwig made his way closer to Schtaffel, pulled out his pistol, lock-and-loaded it, and pointed it at the back of the young man's head.

"We have orders to shoot and _kill_ if necessary." The major continued, glaring at the young American.

The prisoner began to tremble and swallowed a huge knot down his throat.

The old German colonel's face grew worrisome.

"Shoot and kill, Major?" Klink asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Given directly from General Burkhalter himself, Kommandant." The major answered coolly.

General Albert Hans Burkhalter, one of the head officers in the Luftwaffe and Klink's commanding officer. The man was extremely heavy, had a bit of a squeaky voice, and a nasty scar on the right side of his cheek from a battle wound. A prisoner in the Luftwaffe's custody managed to free his hands, pulled out a pocket knife he had hidden on him, and sliced the general's right side, leaving the permanent reminder of his presence in Burkhalter's life.

Klink's goal in life was to impress Burkhalter enough to give him a promotion to general himself. He was a constant kiss up to the brass, hoping it would have some influence on the man in such high power. Sadly, Burkhalter thought otherwise. To him, Klink was nothing more than a bumbling moron, a weakling, and someone that needed to have a simple task in the war in order to prevent the Third Reich from losing. The German colonel would last three seconds in combat fighting, would immediately abandon his post, and make an attempt to escape enemy territory. He was a fraidy-cat, a chicken, and an idiot to Burkhalter, thus the reason he had been assigned to Stalag 13 as a camp kommandant.

"Well," Klink began, grinning again. "If General Burkhalter gave the orders, then it _must_ be final. Never want to disappoint the General, uh? Oh, he's a _wonderful_ man. Why, I remember when I first met him. See, I was still a young officer in the Academy, and one day, I was called in by…" He stopped, when he saw Schtaffel's face darken and his eyes turning coal black. He was not amused with this man's rambling.

Klink cleared his throat and stopped.

"I should begin the interrogation now, _Herr Major_." He tremored.

"That would be _delightful_ , Kommandant." Schtaffel hissed.

"Yes, Major."

Klink made his way to his desk, turned around, and sat down on the top of it, facing the young prisoner with as much of an intimidating voice as possible. It was barely passed intimidating, but it seemed to work on this young man. It made the kommandant wonder why such a young boy was in the military anyways. He would ponder that thought later.

"Alright, I'll start off with an easy question. Who are you?" The German colonel asked strongly.

The young man looked up innocently at Klink, started trembling more, then turned his eyes back to the floor.

"Surely, you know your own name, soldier. What is it?"

Again, no answer.

"Young man, I demand that you give me an answer this instant! And you won't like it if I get angry!" Klink threatened.

Nothing. All he got for an answer was the young boy shivering, a strong chill running up and down his spine quickly.

"I think you will find Kommandant Klink's method of questioning a lot more easier than _our_ methods, American swine!" Schtaffel snarled.

That made the young soldier shake more. He was utterly terrified of these men. Who were they? What did they want with him? What did he do that was so wrong? Where was he? He wanted to go back to his base, be with his friends and his unit, be surrounded by friendly faces instead of ones that gave him nightmares.

At that point, the door to Klink's office opened, and Hogan made his way inside, closing the door behind him gently.

The kommandant lifted his head towards his Senior POW and became enraged.

"Hogan! I told you to knock before entering into my office!" Klink bellowed, shaking his fist in fury.

"Sorry, Kommandant, I saw the car outside your office and wanted to know what was going on," the colonel said innocently. He looked down at the young man in the chair. It was definitely one of his men, and a very young one, too. He had to be just a kid.

The young flyer turned to look to his right, saw Hogan, then shot up from the chair and sprinted to the opposite side of the room. He made his way facing Hogan, Klink, and the Gestapo men and stood there shaking violently. His eyes were dilated, his body shivering, he looked like he had just seen a ghost. The poor kid was absolutely horrified of all of them. (1)

Hogan's jaw dropped a little, stunned to see how terrified this man was of them...of _him_! He felt awful for him and wanted to do anything he could to make the sergeant feel a little better about the situation he was in. The colonel's eyes held genuine empathy within them.

Schtaffel looked at the young man and chuckled softly.

"Scared of one of your own countrymen, huh?" Both the major and captain started laughing now.

It looked like the young man was about to cry or scream for help. His body was rattling at this point. His eyes begging for help, someone to get him out of there, someone to protect him and stand up for him. He felt alone, scared, anxiety ridden, and frightened.

Seeing how terrified this young boy was, Hogan gave a small, warm smile.

"Don't worry...I won't let 'em do anything to you," he said friendly.

Slowly, and hesitantly, the young sergeant made his way back to the chair he had vacated. He stopped halfway, turned his head to the colonel, and started shaking violently again.

"Come on. Don't be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you." Hogan coaxed.

Schtaffel laughed under his breath.

"That's what they _all_ say, at first," he said coolly.

Hogan quickly and unnoticeably gave a glare at the Gestapo major, then he turned his eyes back to the sergeant with comfort gleaming through them.

The young man standing before the colonel simply stared at him and swallowed a knot down his throat. He still looked anxiety stricken.

Hogan smiled a bit, nodded, and gestured the sergeant to continue forward with his finger.

After another short moment of standing there gun-shy, the sergeant followed orders and eventually traipsed his way back over and slowly sat down in the chair, watching Hogan with intimidation. The only response he got was the colonel giving him a small smile.

"That wasn't so hard, was it," Hogan said gently.

The boy swallowed, then nodded at the commanding officer.

"I don't wanna make them angry," the sergeant softly said.

"You're _making_ us angry by not talking!" Schtaffel hissed.

"Answer my questions, sir, and I won't let the Gestapo harm you," Klink said, firm. He swallowed and looked at the two officers behind his new prisoners, shaking. "If that's alright with you, Major."

"We'll see. I'm losing my patience with this one."

"Yes, Major Schtaffel." The kommandant turned his eyes back to the young man and glared at him coldly again. "I'll ask you one more time, and next time it'll be to the cooler with you! Who are you? What is your name?"

"Andrew Carter, sir…" The young prisoner trembled.

"And how old are you?"

"...19."

Hogan snapped his head towards the man. He was only 19? This innocent college kid was forced into fighting such a nightmarish, malicious, brutal war against an enemy like Hitler and the Nazis? He was utterly disgusted with such a thing. Children did not belong in war. They should not have to live in a world filled with nothing but fear and terror, knowing that one slip up, and their families, or themselves, would be slaughtered and beaten to death. He promised himself that when he became a father in the future, he would protect his kids from every demon possible that crossed their paths. That he would give his life to protect them and keep his children safe, if necessary.

Klink nodded, his hands behind his back and clasped together.

"And your ranking in the military?"

"Sergeant...Sergeant Andrew Carter, Kommandant."

"And what is your serial number, Sergeant?"

"H464774."

"Now, Sergeant, where is your base located?"

Carter sat there, fear glistening in his eyes, not knowing whether to answer or keep his mouth shut. He simply looked at the kommandant, his lower lip and chin trembling.

"Where is your base, Sergeant?" Klink asked, with authority.

Starting to shake more, Carter looked at the German colonel with dilated pupils and started shaking his head slowly.

"Come on, Kommandant. Poor kid, he's terrified." Hogan interfered.

"Hogan, if you're going to be present during these interrogations, you'll keep your lips zipped!" Klink ordered.

"It's a violation of the Geneva Convention to force a prisoner into giving more information than his name, rank, and serial number!" The American officer protested.

"You're going to let a _prisoner_ tell you how to run your camp, Kommandant?!" Schtaffel hissed.

"You should have him shot and killed!" Luftwig growled.

That comment made poor Carter shake even harder. He was close to making the chair start to shake from side to side.

Hogan's mouth dropped again, feeling horrified at what this poor kid was experiencing. Someone his age should not have to endure such an intense amount of fear in his life...he should not even be _in_ this war. He should be at home, in college getting an education for a future career, be with his friends and family.

Klink gave a heavy sigh, growing tired and irritated with everyone in his office. He just wanted to get rid of all of them.

"Fine, Hogan. Take him to your barracks. He can reside there for the remaining of the war." The kommandant turned to Carter. "Sergeant Carter, I would advise you to not try any attempts of escaping nor messing with any of my guards. Stalag 13 has never had an escape, not _one_! I intend to keep that perfect record, and serious consequences will result if such action is taken. You will not even make it outside the wire before one of my men catches you and reports it to me directly."

" _Never_?" The sergeant gasped.

"Not a single one!"

Carter quickly nodded, immediately dismissing the idea of prodding the Germans anymore.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly.

"Diiiiiisssssssmiiiiiiiissssed!"

Hogan and Carter gave their salutes, then the two POWs walked out into the sunny weather. They were a fourth of the way from Klink's office, when Carter stopped, stood up tall and saluted the colonel as best as he could. His face seemed a bit anxious, like he was terrified the Senior POW getting furious with him if he did not.

Hogan chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. His smile seemed to brighten the entire area more, making it cheerful instead fearful.

"At ease, Sergeant. I like to keep it low-key around here," he said.

Carter, stunned at what he heard, slowly lowered his arm and relaxed his body posture.

"You mean...you won't get angry at me for not saluting you?"

"No. Just ask anyone around here. They'll tell you the same thing."

"I didn't, uh...exactly catch your name in there with Klink...I was too focused on not making those Gestapo guys mad."

Hogan grinned.

"Colonel Robert Hogan, United States Army Air Corps."

He patted Carter's shoulder gently and never lost his smile.

"Come on. You've had a long day as it is. I want you to meet some of the guys."

"Yes, Sir...Mr. Colonel, Sir?"

"Whoa there...just call me Colonel, Carter, remember? Nothing uptight around here."

The sergeant seemed to lose his tension a bit more and gave a small smile. He did not know this man well yet, and was shy with new people, but he liked the colonel. He felt safe, cared for, like he could trust and depend on him for whatever he needed. His last commanding officer was as terrifying as Hitler probably was in person. He was strict, disciplinary, ruthless, a walking nightmare to everyone in his unit, but he was _definitely_ not getting that feeling with Hogan. If anything, he thought of him more as a friend.

"Yes, Sir," Carter said softly.

Hogan smiled, wrapped an arm around the sergeant's shoulders, and took him to barracks two.

* * *

(1) Sort of a reference and inkling to my story 'Hogan's Heroes: Only We Can Do That'. Carter's previous commanding officer was an abusive, manipulative madman who only cared about himself. The rest you'll have to find out for yourself in that story. ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16:**

Hogan opened the door to the barracks and held the door for the new prisoner of war. Carter stepped in and looked around the area. For a POW barracks in the middle of Germany, it was pretty decent. A few men coming and going, plenty of beds for all of the barracks' occupants, a table to eat at, a stove, a sink, a countertop beside the sink, and another room he assumed was Hogan's.

At the table, Kinch and Newkirk were lost in a game of gin, and LeBeau was at the stove boiling water for dinner.

"Boy," Carter said quietly. "Sure is nice for a POW camp."

The colonel chuckled and cocked his head slightly to the side.

"I'll let Scotty know you appreciate his cleaning."

"Who?"

"One of the men who lives in here. He's an RAF sergeant."

"Where is he _now_?"

"Oh, probably outside somewhere hanging out with some of the other prisoners around here." Hogan turned to find his little Frenchman and grinned. "Oh, Carter, this is Corporal Louis LeBeau from the French Air Force; one of my good friends around here."

LeBeau turned around, gave a beaming smile, and stuck his hand out.

" _Bonjour_ ," he said, cheerful.

Carter shook in fear, terrified of making a fool of himself, then darted for the vacant bunk underneath Newkirk's and covered his entire body up with the midnight blue blanket and sheets provided.

Hogan, LeBeau, Kinch, and Newkirk all looked at each other stunned, then made their heads back in the direction of Carter.

"It's alright, Carter. They just wanna say 'hello' is all," Hogan said gently.

"You're alright, mate. No one here's gonna hurt yah," Newkirk softly said.

The sergeant slowly pulled the covers down from his head and stared at the new faces before him. One was an African American sergeant from his country, and the other was an RAF corporal with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. Both of them looked at him with concern and empathy.

"You aren't gonna laugh at me?" Carter croaked.

"Not unless you say something stupid." LeBeau responded.

Hogan turned his head to the French corporal and glared at him coldly. He got the message loud and clear, then fell quiet. He let Newkirk, Hogan, or Kinch continue the talking.

"We aren't gonna laugh at yah, mate. We're all friends here...well...except for those bloody Krauts patrolling the entire camp, but that's a different tale for another day."

Carter's face began to grow a smile.

Kinch smiled back.

"There yah go, kid. Nothing to fear here. Just be yourself," he said kindly.

The sergeant sat up slowly, swung his legs over, and looked at the three new men before him. They seemed nice, but he was not exactly sure yet. He had to get to know them a little more before deciding.

Hogan looked at the four men in front of him and grinned. He knew Carter was in good hands now. They would show and teach him everything he needed to know.

"If you guys need me, I'm in my room," the colonel said.

"I'll let you know when dinner's ready, Colonel." LeBeau replied.

Not looking back, Hogan gave a thumb's up, then entered his room.

Carter felt a bit of anxiety return with Hogan now out of the room, but if he said these guys were nice, then he would give them a chance.

"So, kid, how 'bout it? Where do you come from?" Kinch asked, starting a conversation with the new guy.

Carter looked up at the sergeant, perplexed on what he meant by that.

"Where do I come from?" He responded, unsure.

"Yeah, like I'm from London, Louis's from Paris, and Kinch is from Detroit." Newkirk clarified.

LeBeau sighed happily.

"My beautiful Paris. I will show all of you the entire city after the war!"

"Excuse me, was I talking to you?" The Englishman answered, snarky.

The Frenchman gave a quick glare at his friend, then he turned his attention back to his cooking.

Carter rubbed the back of his neck, still slightly uncomfortable with all of them.

"Gee...I guess Bullfrog, North Dakota," he said softly.

"Bullfrog, North Dakota?" Newkirk asked, suspicious.

"Does such a place even exist?" LeBeau questioned.

"It must. I mean, I've seen it on a map, so it's gotta be real, right?" The sergeant answered. "Wait...where's Colonel Hogan from?"

"Cleveland, Ohio," Kinch said.

"Hey! I have cousins that live in Cleveland! You think he might know 'em?"

"I don't know. He's not too vocal on his personal life...you got folks back home?"

"I got a mom, dad, a black lab, a cat, and a younger brother and sister. What about you guys?"

"Got both my parents, an older brother, and an uncle of mine that lives in Chicago."

"Aren't there mobs in Chicago?"

"I didn't say he made smart decisions."

Carter nodded, then turned to Newkirk.

"What about you...Newkirk?" He had never been good with names.

"You got it right, mate. As for family, I got a younger sister, me mum, a dad, and some cousins all back home in London."

"And you, Louis...if I can call you that, that is," Carter said, shy.

" _Oui, mon ami_. I have my mother, father, three older brothers, and about seven uncles and aunts." The little Frenchman responded.

" _Seven_? Where do they all live?" The young man gasped.

"Some in Paris, others near the west, and some down in southern France."

Carter fell silent again. What else could he ask them? He did not want any moments of awkward silences, but he did not want to ask them anything stupid, either.

"You guys have girlfriends?" He finally asked, hesitantly.

Newkirk scoffed.

"And not able to go on the playing field, no way."

"I agree," LeBeau said. "There's too many pretty girls back in Paris to pass up."

"I've been on a few dates, but I wouldn't say I ever had a serious relationship with someone. I kind of have to go with them, kid. Too many pretty _frauleins_ to miss out on." Kinch added.

The three men laughed, knowing what each of them were referring to. It made Carter sit there confused as to what was so funny. If there had been something he was supposed to be included in, he completely missed it.

"What about you, André; you have a girlfriend back home?" LeBeau asked.

Carter nodded.

"What about Colonel Hogan? Does he have a family? A girlfriend?" He questioned.

"Like Kinch said before; he ain't too vocal on his life back home. All we know is that he's from Cleveland, Ohio, has a mom and dad, a best friend back in London leading a bombing squadron, Major Richard Schuerman, and his commanding officer stationed in London, a General Alfred Berkman. Other than that, we know as much as you do about him." Newkirk clarified.

Carter struggled with his next question. He needed to know the answer, but did not want to offend any of them nor cause any trouble. He checked to make sure Hogan was not anywhere in the area. Seeing the coast was clear, he swallowed a knot in his throat and spoke.

"Is...is he as nice as he appeared?"

"Who, the Gov'nor? He's great! Nothing to worry about." Newkirk answered, smiling.

"Colonel Hogan is the best! He's nice, funny, strong, wise, and smart!" LeBeau added proudly.

" _Smart_! Try _brilliant_! That man knows more than a dictionary!"

"Really?" Carter asked, stunned.

" _Oui_ ," LeBeau said.

"So...he won't yell at me?" The sergeant asked, wanting confirmation. He did not want another commanding officer like the last one he got stuck with.

"Sounds like your last commander wasn't exactly sunshine and rainbows," Kinch said, sensing he was right.

"More like terror and nightmares." The young sergeant answered.

"Sounds like every commanding officer I've ever encountered." Newkirk grumbled.

"What about the Colonel?" The staff sergeant asked.

"He don't count, when it comes to these things, mate."

Kinch rolled his eyes and looked back at the new guy.

"Don't worry, Carter. Colonel Hogan's one of the nicest guys you could ever meet. He won't get after yah, unless you do something that could hurt yourself or others."

The young man slumped and made a face with slight anxiety masked over.

"I sure hope so," was all he said.

* * *

A few weeks went by, and Carter was soon warmed up to the other prisoners and got familiar with the camp, Schultz, the other guards, and discovered that Klink was less than intimidating; he was a giant bumbling moron who talked big, but chickened out over the tiniest thing.

When he was not inside the barracks taking naps or eating, he was outside with Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau playing sports, talking with one another, or walking around camp and watching the other prisoners and guards. The four clicked right away and soon became inseparable. It made Hogan feel good that Carter was making friends and had a support group. He had felt awful the first day he saw him in Klink's office. A kid his age should have been anywhere else other than Nazi Germany. No one deserved to be in the middle of Germany in these times, especially a freshmen in college.

It was a nice summer day out, and while Carter was playing a game of football with Baker, Sergeant Stewart Olsen, Scotty, and some other fellow prisoners, Hogan leaned against the wall of barracks two. Crossing his legs and arms, he smiled and watched the game. Beside him was Newkirk smoking a cigarette, and LeBeau and Kinch sitting on the bench on the Englishman's right. All three of Hogan's men were watching their new friend struggle to catch the ball, but was enjoying himself.

"Carter sure seems to be getting into the swing of things, here," Kinch said, with a grin.

" _Oui_. I'm glad he's not so scared of everyone anymore." LeBeau commented, his eyes never leaving sight of the young man.

"I think I'll try to teach me mate Andrew tonight how to play a little gin," Newkirk said, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Out of Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau, it was the Englishman who had seemed to win over Carter the most. Sometimes his naivete and slowness on picking up on some things bother the hell out of him, but the two cared for one another like a big brother and little brother. Newkirk gave him grief frequently, but if it ever came down to Carter being in trouble or needed help, he would protect the young man with his life.

Hogan smirked and cocked his head to the side slightly.

"Don't you think you should play a card game you _don't_ cheat at, for starters?" The colonel asked softly.

" _Me_? Cheat? Sir, I'm insulted."

Hogan shook his head. His face went from happy to serious quickly, and it worried his men.

"You alright, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"You look sad," LeBeau said.

The American officer sighed.

"I'm not sad...just thinking." He answered with.

"About what, Sir?" Kinch replied.

Hogan turned to his men and gestured with his head to go inside.

Following orders, the three men made their way inside the barracks following Hogan. They entered the colonel's office, and Newkirk closed the door behind him. They gathered around Hogan, who was leaning against his room's window and looking at them.

"What is it, Colonel?" LeBeau asked softly.

"Something from London?" Kinch prodded.

The colonel looked at them for a bit more in silence, then spoke.

"I'm considering in asking Carter to join the team."

The three of his men looked at him stunned. None of them had a problem with the idea; they liked Carter and thought he was a great person to have join their little group, but it was...unexpected.

"When did you start thinking about this?" Kinch asked.

"A few nights ago. I was checking him out with London to make certain he was not secretly someone sent here from Berlin to spy on us. It was when General Berkman informed me of something interesting about the sergeant that made my mind start turning the idea around."

"What do you mean 'something interesting'?" Newkirk asked, suspicious.

"Did any of you know Carter's a scientific genius?" Hogan answered, his voice with a hint of amazement.

"A scientific genius," Kinch said.

"He's a chemistry major at the University of North Dakota and has been in upper grade science since the middle of his 6th grade year." The colonel continued. "During his military training, it was discovered that he knows explosives and demolition like the back of his hand. The different parts to a bomb, timing devices, how to make them start, stop them before exploding, how to build and take apart one safely...he's a demolition expert. Carter could be a major asset to the operation and its success against the Allied War Effort."

"Blimey! You pulling me leg, Gov'nor?" Newkirk gasped.

"I'm not, Newkirk. What I've said is 100% true."

"Holy cats...you think he could help us with sabotage and espionage?" Kinch questioned.

" _More_ than help. I think he might be a guaranteed win for the Allies in this war," Hogan said.

"I'm not against the idea, Sir, but do yah think he'll be willing to tag along with what we do around here?" Newkirk asked.

"I couldn't tell you that answer, but I'm eager to have him on this team if he accepts my offer...first, he needs to be checked out, though. He could have changed since being shot down over Germany. Newkirk, you and LeBeau check out his uniform and belongings he brought here with them. Make certain that they're USA made. Kinch, I want you to contact Otto and ask him to do a little research. Have him find out where Carter was being held when captured by the Gestapo and whether or not he was persuaded into working for the Krauts and sent here as a spy."

"Aye, Colonel," LeBeau said.

"Got it, Gov," Newkirk said.

"No problem, Sir." Kinch added.

The colonel gave a small smile and nodded.

"Okay."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17:**

A couple days went by, and Hogan's men were intensely digging up information on their new friend and investigating where his true loyalties lied since being shot down over Germany. They did not suspect anything fishy with Carter and were fond of him, but they had to do their duties for safety precautions. One slip up, and the operation, many innocent lives, and Hogan and his men were finished.

"His locker looks clean, mate. Can't find a single thing that looks fishy." Newkirk reported. He, LeBeau, and Kinch had gathered around at the table to share what they had found on Carter.

" _Oui_. I checked his uniform twice. Boots, jacket, and hat all issued by the USA," LeBeau said.

Kinch nodded.

"As for what Otto dug up, Carter was shot down a few miles north from Hammelburg in a corn field. He made it about four miles down the road, when a Gestapo car picked him up. He tried to go into hiding, but he found his hiding spot two seconds too late. They brought him to Headquarters and began interrogating him. Poor kid was so scared, he couldn't even talk. They tried about four times in getting him to talk, but he always froze up and stared at them. They finally decided they weren't getting anywhere with him and made the decision to send him here to Stalag 13 in hopes Klink would get him to come clean...again, he couldn't under the eyes of the Gestapo." The sergeant shared.

Newkirk shook his head, feeling awful for the young man. He never knew how fear could affect a person so much. Of course, he had been shook up when captured by the Germans, but he had not been scared to the point he could not even speak. He _chose_ not to speak. He _chose_ to go under brutal methods of the Gestapo to try and make him squeal. But he had never been so terrified he had lost complete control over his vocal chords. The Englishman had never been one to be scared too easily.

"Poor kid...no one his age should have to go through that," he said.

"I agree. Carter shouldn't even _be_ here. He should be back home getting an education and enjoying his early adulthood." Kinch commented.

"Instead he's here fighting the filthy bosche." LeBeau hissed.

Newkirk sighed, then looked to his friends again.

"Well...what do we think? Can we trust him with the operation?" He asked.

" _Je ne sais pas_ ," LeBeau said.

"Bloody hell, Louis, what does that mean?"

" _Je ne sais pas_. It's French for 'I don't know'."

"Yah mean yah gotta say all that to say 'I don't know'?"

"Guys," Kinch cut in. "Focus."

"Sorry, mate," Newkirk said softly.

"Well...do _you_ think we can trust him, Kinch?" LeBeau asked, with uncertainty.

"We better go ask the Colonel and see what he thinks," the sergeant said.

"Righto, mate." Newkirk answered.

The three made their way from the table and to Hogan's door. Kinch knocked on it, then opened the door followed by his friends inside. Once in the room, LeBeau closed the door behind them and found Hogan lying in bed reading a book.

The colonel looked up from reading, saw his men, then sat the book down on his bed and got to his feet.

"Gentlemen," he said. "Something I can help you with?" Hogan crossed his arms and stood there looking at them slightly perplexed.

"We've finished investigating and reviewing Carter, Sir," Kinch said.

"And?"

"We can trust me mate, Andrew, Gov. He's cleared of all second doubts." Newkirk answered.

"Uniform, boots, and hat all issued from the United States, a loyal Ally, everything that we've been told is true. He's just a 19 year old kid doing his service for his country and pursuing a career in the chemistry or medical world." Kinch continued.

Hogan grinned from ear to ear.

"I _knew_ Carter could be trusted," the colonel said. "I liked that kid the minute I met him."

"What do you think, Colonel? You want to tell him now?" Kinch asked, leaning against Hogan's bunk.

Hogan nodded, anticipation and excitement written all over his face. His smile seemed to light up the entire room.

"Bring him in," the colonel said softly.

Hogan's men made their way outside of the barracks to retrieve Carter, and Hogan made his way out into the main area and stood beside the table the four of them shared and ate their meals at. It did not take too long before Newkirk, LeBeau, and Kinch returned with an uneasy Carter. The young sergeant seemed anxious and jittery. He looked up at Hogan quickly, then diverted his eyes away immediately. Was he in trouble? Did he do something wrong? Why did Hogan want to see him? Did he upset the colonel in some way? His fear seemed to emanate off of him, because Hogan started chuckling softly.

"Easy, Carter...you didn't do anything wrong," he said friendly, holding up his left hand.

The young sergeant sighed with relief and relaxed his shoulders.

"Whew...boy, was I sure scared there for a moment."

Hogan smirked, shook his head, then looked back at the young boy again.

"Carter, there's something we want to show you. We feel you deserve to know." The colonel began.

"What is it?" He asked, puzzled.

Not answering, Hogan gave a sly grin to the newest POW and made his way towards the fake bunk.

Leaving Carter confused with what was going on, Newkirk, Kinch, and LeBeau gently pushed their new friend over towards where their commanding officer was. They stopped and turned to look at Hogan.

"Hey...what's going on here, anyways?" The young man asked.

"Carter, what I'm about to show you must not leave this barracks, understood? It's top secret, and we could all get into some serious trouble if it leaks out somehow," Hogan said, in a serious tone.

Carter swallowed a knot in his throat and started shaking softly.

"Boy, you sure are scaring me, Sir," he said meekly.

"Nothing to be scared of, Carter. You're alright." Kinch spoke, smiling. He turned to Hogan. "You wanna do the honors, Colonel?"

"Gladly." The colonel turned, banged on the side of the bunk, and soon enough, the bunk raised and a ladder lowered into a gaping hole in the ground.

Carter's jaw dropped and hung from its hinges. His baby blue eyes seemed to pop out of his head at the sight. He was shocked, confused, frightened, curious, and a little excited all rolled up into one. The young sergeant lifted his eyes back towards Hogan, who was leaning against the bunk's pole, his arms and legs crossed, and smiling at him small.

"Wha, wha...how did that...where does that...how did you...when did…" The American officer cut off the young man.

"Surprised?"

All Carter could do was nod. He could not find his voice to speak. Not after what he just witnessed. Hogan had banged on the side of a bunk bed in the barracks and suddenly a secret entrance into a tunnel below their barracks appeared. How did they keep this hidden from Klink, Schultz, and the rest of the guards? How had they not found out about this yet?

"You want to go down and take a look?" Hogan asked friendly.

Carter nodded again, still in shock of what had happened, and the colonel wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Hogan lead Carter to the tunnel entrance and went down behind him. LeBeau, Kinch, and Newkirk followed suit shortly after the two had made their descent.

Once reaching the bottom, the three of them made their way to Hogan and Carter. The new sergeant turned around in a circle, gaping at everything in sight. The tunnel was _huge_! So huge, there were other tunnels that lead off on each side to several destinations. There were lamp lights lit below to guide the way and make it easy to see underground.

"Whoa!" Carter gasped, in amazement. He could just not fathom what he was taking in right now. It was so stunning, his nervous system could not process it fast enough through his brain. He felt almost as if this was some weird and crazy dream he was having.

"Some sight, ain't it, mate," Newkirk said, with a grin.

"Wow! How did you do all of this? And, and...how does Klink not know about this?" The young man asked, turning towards the American officer.

"Klink?" LeBeau laughed. "That man wouldn't know about this if he saw it right in front of his face."

"But, but, but, it's...it's all...I mean what if...how did...when did you…"

Hogan smirked and cut off the rambling college kid.

"Come on, Carter. There's more to see."

"There's _more_?!"

"You didn't think we would leave all these extra rooms in here empty, did you?"

" _Rooms_?!"

Newkirk rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around Carter's shoulders.

"You've got a lot of learning to do, Andrew. Come on," the Englishman said.

The five of them continued their journey throughout the network of tunnels: the ones that lead to the other barracks, the infirmary, Klink's quarters, the guard's quarters, the dog house, the emergency exit, and to the cooler. Carter was introduced to the radio room, the sewing room, the first-aid room, the guest rooms, ammo and weapon supply, even a small recreation room was down below their barracks! They had just about everything you could imagine down in the tunnels. It left Carter dumbfounded and stunned beyond belief. He still felt as if he were dreaming more than it being a reality. But out of all the rooms he saw, it was the last one that took the cake.

Hogan stopped in front of the entrance to the last room there was to give a tour of. He turned around to look at the four men following him, the youngest one being in front. The colonel smiled.

"Ready for this last room?" He asked.

"Gee, Colonel. I don't think there's anything else down here that's gonna stun me more than what I've already seen. I think there's just about everything you could _imagine_ down here!" Carter gasped.

All Hogan could do was chuckle.

"We'll see," he said. He gestured with his head for the four of them follow. Once he was inside the room, Hogan stepped aside and leaned against the wall. When Carter finally made his way inside with his friends in tow, he almost fainted. There before him was a huge laboratory. There were chemicals, test tubes, beakers, a stove, Bunsen burners, experimental explosives, and so much more.

The young sergeant's face lit up like a Christmas tree and grinned with excitement.

"Oh, boy!" He cried.

He hurried to the table and started picking up equipment and looking at all the different chemicals and their many different colors. He had died and gone to Heaven. He had always wanted to work in a science lab to discover and make new things. It was a dream come true to him.

Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau turned to one another and smiled. They had a feeling this would be the one that blew Carter away.

Hogan smiled and continued watching the young man in a fatherly type of way.

"It's yours," he said.

"You're giving me this room?!" Carter asked, with excitement.

"Carter, there's something I want to ask you." The colonel made his way from the wall to in front of the sergeant. Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau watched off to the right side behind their commanding officer. "I've been thinking about it for quite a while now, and you seem to be exactly what I'm looking for."

"Looking for?"

Hogan cocked his head slightly to the side and gave another smile.

"Carter, I want you to be a part of my team," he said.

The young man stood there for a moment, staring at the man befuddled. He had no idea what he meant by that. A team; what kind of team?

"You mean...you mean like a football team?" He finally asked, unsure of himself.

"Blimey, he's a slow one," Newkirk said, shaking his head and fighting back a smile. This kid sometimes irritated the daylights out of him, but most of the time it was endearing. He found Carter's naivete both annoying and funny, and he could not live without him in his life.

Hogan laughed and shook his head lightly.

"No...not a football team. Carter, for several months now, Newkirk, LeBeau, Kinch, and I have been operating a sabotage and espionage unit underneath Stalag 13. We've been highly cautious with making sure that none of the Krauts find out about our work and always do a background check on new prisoners of war to make sure that they haven't been sent here from Berlin to investigate this area." He began.

"You guys are fighting the war right beneath the enemy's noses?!" Carter exclaimed.

"We have."

"And...you want me to join you guys?"

"I do."

"Gee...I'd love to...but I don't think I'm the right guy...I don't exactly have a lot of experience in this kind of thing...I don't think I'm good enough while I'm at it, Sir." Carter hung his head and closed his eyes. The idea of joining Hogan's team was incredible. He wanted to jump aboard the minute the colonel had offered it to him. Working with Hogan, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Kinch to fight the Germans was the opportunity of a lifetime, and he liked all of them. Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk were great friends, and Hogan was the nicest, caring, fun commanding officer he had ever met. He wanted to join, but he was just a 19 year old kid. There was no way he could match up to these men's intelligence and experience level.

Hogan gave a kind smile, his eyes twinkling in the light.

"Carter, I couldn't think of a better guy than you. You're a scientific genius, a good kid, and a loyal Ally till the end. I wouldn't want anyone else on my team for an demolitions expert, but it's your decision. I understand completely if you turn down the offer," he said friendly.

The young sergeant looked up into Hogan's gentle eyes, his face starting to lighten. The colonel thought he was the best out of anyone else in camp qualified for the position? He really wanted _him_?!

"Really?" Carter asked, hope filling his heart.

"Really," Hogan said, grinning.

Carter turned to look at his three new friends, smiling from ear to ear.

Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau, smiling back, nodded their heads quickly for him to say 'yes'.

The young man turned to look back at Hogan again. Him...working alongside with his three new best friends. The four of them fighting the Germans and putting an end to Hitler's reign of power. Together, he felt they would be unstoppable. And at the same time, they would be under the leadership and command of Colonel Hogan. A man who was strong, brilliant, clever, and kind. The greatest man he had yet to ever meet in his life. He wanted to live up to his potential and make his new commanding officer proud of him. With the five of them together as a team, Hitler and his Nazis did not stand a chance at winning this war.

Carter smiled boldly and nodded eagerly.

"I'm in!" He cried, with excitement.

Kinch, Newkirk, and LeBeau cheered and hurried to welcome to their new member of the team and congratulate their best friend.

"Boy, are those Krauts gonna be in for a wild ride!" Newkirk celebrated.

"They don't stand a _chance_ with the five of us around!" LeBeau responded, confident.

"I'll make some of the biggest, baddest bombs they'll ever see," Carter said, with a grin.

All four of them started laughing and cheering.

Hogan chuckled, made his way towards his men, and wrapped his arms around them. He knew already that this would be the best team he ever was assigned to command and lead to victory. They were incredible military men and the best friends a guy could ask for.

"Guys," he said, looking at all of his men. "Buckle your seat belts. We're in for one heck of a ride."


End file.
